#'someone got murdered in a gruesome manner and i walked in on the crime scene seeing the most fucked up shit in my life'

[tardis--dreams]

Entered the stage where i have to fight the urge to reply to my lecturers' emails with heart emojis

[o-uncle-newt]

A lord, a Belgian and a priest walk into a manor house

I mentioned in my previous post about the book Enter Sir John that next I might write about Leo Bruce's classic murder mystery pastiche Case for Three Detectives next- et voila, as Amer Picon Hercule Poirot might say, I am doing it! In this book, after a gruesome locked room murder in a manor house, three detectives who are SUSPICIOUSLY SIMILAR TO Lord Peter Wimsey, Hercule Poirot, and Father Brown arrive on the scene freakishly quickly to each attempt to solve the case (and one up each other just a bit while doing so), all the while talking over Sgt Beef, the very straightforward cop just doing straightforward police investigation who keeps trying to tell them that he's solved it.

VERY GENERAL SPOILERS FOR THE BOOK BELOW- as in, no names or specifics but describing some broad plot points

***

Spoiler-not-spoiler- Beef solves it. I promise it's not a spoiler, it's the point of the whole book! That said, I'm not going to focus so much on the actual mystery, its IRL solution, and its mechanics because they don't end up being really relevant (to say further would be a spoiler)- all I'll say is that the solution is fascinating. I'm also not going to talk much about Sgt Beef, who, because he is there to be routine and boring with his investigation, doesn't make much of an impact IMO except to be somewhat sarcastic and speaking in some very phonetic Cockney (or whatever "'e got 'im by the froat" et al is meant to sound like). He also has one MASSIVE and consequential fuckup that I won't spoil and that annoys me a lot from a plot perspective.

What I really want to talk about are the detectives, because they are the fun part. First I'll say that the book is narrated by the natural sidekick- a man named Townsend (if his first name is mentioned it passed me by) who is, essentially, a wannabe Watson/Hastings. He finds himself at the scene of the crime, is thrilled to discover that he gets to hang with these amazing detectives, and gets annoyed by the presence of the wet-blanket Sgt Beef and his attempts to spoil the fun. He shadows all the detectives, becoming first awed and then disenchanted and then awed again as he moves from detective to detective, seeing their amazing deductions and then seeing their fellow detectives shooting them down in turn. Seeing his journey as the eager sidekick who gets slowly disillusioned as he realizes that maybe the amateur sleuths aren't all they're cracked up to be is very fun.

Who are the sleuths? We have Lord Simon Plimsoll, Amer Picon, and Monsignor Smith, and if you couldn't figure out who they're parodying just from the names then basically everything else about them will fill you in. They're all very good pastiches, though my favorite was Monsignor Smith just because Bruce got exactly how to write a Father Brown parody. I've seen people say it's a bit too nasty, but as someone who's enjoyed Father Brown stories for nearly two decades I thought that he captured his speaking style and mannerisms perfectly- with lots of vague allusions and parallelisms and odd mystical statements. One of my favorites:

"If there was only one [rope], it would be better. It would be much better. But I'm afraid there are two. And yet- who can say? One rope makes a noose."

It kinda sorta means something, but doesn't actually, or if it does we're not being told what, and it sounds ominous and wise. That's basically Father Brown in a nutshell.

Amer Picon as Hercule Poirot is fun- there isn't a lot of meat to the parody besides him basically just talking exactly like Poirot (and like Poirot, who had his Hastings, Poirot seems to be the most oka with having Townsend following him around), but Bruce is so good at it that it doesn't matter, as the mannerisms and speech patterns really make you think you're reading Poirot. And the fact that the narrator is SO incredibly Hastings-like makes Picon even more Poirot-esque, which is great.

Lord Simon Plimsoll... well, as a fan, I'm of two minds. He has a very entertaining entrance, where he rolls up in style-

"He stepped out of the first of the three Rolls Royces, the second of which contained his man-servant, whose name I later learned was Butterfield, and the third, a quantity of photographic apparatus."

Clearly this isn't Wimsey, who would never show up anywhere without some iteration of his Daimler, Mrs Merdle, but it's what you'd write about a PARODY of the kind of character Wimsey is. After that he's mostly just cheerful, droppin' gs, and using whatever random slang he has the opportunity for. On the one hand, it's pretty much what someone observing Wimsey from the outside would see (though there could have been more arcane French quotations), and so it can't be faulted for that- one difference between the Wimsey books and the Father Brown/Poirot books is that in the Wimsey books we frequently get in Wimsey's own head and see him behind closed doors, which gives him more depth; it's fair enough in that case that in a book narrated by a looker-on he would only see the outer quippy shell. On the other hand, for a fan, that made the parody seem more one-dimensional and less apt. It doesn't help that Bunter Butterfield isn't really around much in the book; that might have helped a bit.

(I would note- if Bruce wanted, given the tone of the parody particularly of Father Brown, I bet he could have done some really blistering parody of Wimsey being all overwhelmed by his nerves and his conscience, and I'm not sure if I'm glad he didn't because I would have resented it or if I'd have loved it as it would have made the whole thing feel more Wimseyish.)

All that is good, but what's REALLY great in this book is that Leo Bruce gets not specifically the detectives themselves, but the way that the detective stories they star in function. This is, again, something that I think is less the case with Wimsey than the other two, but the following quote is reasonably illustrative:

"Lord Simon, gently sipping his brandy, so obviously considered it all to be a most absorbing game of chess, 'something to occupy a chap,' that for a moment I lost all patience with him. And the brilliant little Picon, whose humanity was more evident, he too could not help enjoying his own efforts- and that disturbed me. Certainly I had never known Mgr Smith actually hand a man over to the Law, but even that was partly because the criminals he discovered had a way of committing suicide before he revealed their identity."

This has the same issue as the rest of the Wimsey parody- Wimsey from the outside is not especially interesting, and Wimsey from the inside is generally imperceptible by narrators who don't know him, so while a Wimsey fan will read this and say "not true!" it's pretty reasonable for an outside observer seeing him try to solve a crime. The Picon description rings pretty true- he shakes his head at things that bother him, but he still gets a lot of pleasure from the chase. And the nature of Father Brown's investigations is well summed up here- as is another section where the narrator observes that Mgr Smith was probably losing interest because there were no supernatural things that would turn out to be even more horrible because they were natural, and no demons or symbols of human evil.

...or were there?

Because my actual favorite thing here is the ending, and this is where the semi-spoilers come in because I will be mentioning some very general plot points from the book. The genius thing here, essentially, is that each of the solutions posited by the three parodic detectives is exactly the kind of solution that would occur in a book by their counterparts.

Plimsoll's solution is first, and it's classic Sayers- it's about a woman's inheritance and the complex web of relationships and personal circumstances that compel a person to kill that woman in order to get her money. Sayers returns to the inheritance plot frequently (including in three books in a row, crazily enough) and it's nearly always a woman who has a rapacious relative who will scheme for her possessions.

Picon's solution comes next, and it's, if anything, even more classic Christie- a love triangle and collusion between lovers. Whether because of her own life experiences or not, love triangles are very, very common across Christie's work, and this is a classic example of the kind that she wrote.

Mgr Smith's solution is just as classic Chesterton- it involves the weakness and evil in the heart of a clergyman, who Smith says is possessed by devils and/or insane. That clergyman is, of course, Protestant. I rest my case.

Writing this book was clearly a feat- Bruce had to not just figure out the essence of each of these detectives' stories, but also to construct a mystery and setting which could provide the clues that could be used to construct a murder along the detectives' usual lines. And not only does it indicate a lot of skill, it also is entertaining to read, and those things don't always manage to go together.

Anyway, while I do have some quibbles overall, if you're a fan of any of these detectives, I highly recommend this one!

[ssoojinism]

BONNIE & CLYDE | pjm

Pairing ; criminal! Jimin x criminal! y/n

Genre : angst, nsfw (16+), crime au

Warning : alcohol consumption, kissing, graphic murder (pretty gory but some might find it isn’t, idk)

Plot summary :-

“you make this world a little wild, and we shout through crowded streets, turn up the noise and make it loud, and let the world fall at our feet,”.

The story of you living a reckless life with your boyfriend, Park Jimin as the most wanted criminal couple in the big city of Seoul. Inspired by Yuqi's Bonnie and Clyde and also the story of Bonnie and Clyde itself.

[next]

--

The atmosphere in the nightclub located in the center of Seoul is very noisy with the presence of young people dancing on the dance floor, enlivened with lively songs and colorful lights flooding the dark room. The smell of alcohol filled the space mixed with the smell of sweat from those who were still fiercely dancing at the middle of the club.

Meanwhile, in one corner, there was a woman sitting alone in a drinks bar accompanied by the alcohol she had ordered before. She was seen staring at another man who was also sitting not far from her sitting spot. The man who was also aware of her gaze turned around and carved a sweet smile, making the girl to shyly blushed. She then sipped on her drink to relieve the embarrassment before she got startled by a voice that suddenly greeted her out of nowhere.

“Are you new?” He asked.

His voice dripping with honey, not too deep and not too feminine as it’s sounds a bit raspy to her ears. A seductive smile and droopy eyes staring at her that had her heart beating a little bit too faster than usual.

“Kinda. I always want to try the alcohol here,” she said. He then stares at the glass in her hand.

“Martini. Nice one,” He complimented. “Whiskey sour is my favorite,” he added, showing her his half empty glass. She just smiled before he lifted his glass, signaling her for a cheer which she then clashed her glasses with his.

“What’s your name?” He asked first before sipping his drink.

“Yerin,”

“Cute. I’m Jimin,” He reached out for a handshake. Yerin happily accept it but when she about to pull back, Jimin tighten the grip of his hold while staring deep into her face, causing the girl to get flustered, especially when she saw the way his pupil dilated and get darker as he darted his tongue out to wet the bottom of his lips.

“I wonder if you’re…single?”

--

Her back slammed against the brick wall before Jimin once again hovered her to attack her lips for another messy, rough kiss. Yerin let out a breathy moan, her hands wrapping around his neck to deepen the kiss.

“Jimin, Jimin!” She tapped his shoulders for attention but he didn’t seem to listen when he continued to french kissing her like there is no tomorrow.

“Let’s get a room, yeah?” She suggested after she managed to get him off from her for a while. He pouted. “But I can’t wait any longer,” He whined.

Yerin blushed. “It’s embarrassing to have people watching,” She replied while looking around the alley. It was dark but anyone could freely walk in to them so she rather doing it in a closed area. “I will rent a room and I’ll let you do whatever you want, okay?”

Jimin’s lips curled into a mischief smile and nodded. He gets off to let her walk out from the alley towards the open streets but after like one or two step, her way got blocked by someone, judging from a strange silhouette in front of her.  

“Who-“

Yerin looked up and saw you, standing in front of her with switchblade in your hand, pointing towards her. Her brows connecting in a confusing manner.

She recognizes you. You are the woman sitting next to her at the bar back then. She remembers you ordering beer next to her and silently drinking while Yerin still busy having her great time with Jimin before.

But why are you suddenly show up like this? Pointing a knife at the base of her throat in a threatening manner like she doesn’t even know you!

Yerin doesn’t even get a chance to scream because you had slashed her neck open with the switchblade, the blood splatter on your black dress and some even landed on your face too.

The woman collapses lifelessly with her eyes still wide open. You breathe out meanwhile Jimin stepping out from the shadow with a grin.

“That was beautiful, baby!” He applauded, referring to the gruesome image in front of him. You sent him a glare before let out a grunt while walking away, earning a confuse look from your boyfriend.

“Hey! At least get her wallet! Gosh,”

Jimin get into the car after he managed to retrieve the wallet and some jewelry belongs to their previous victim and he saw you wiping the remaining blood on your face, even trying to erase the red lipstick painted on your lips but Jimin was quick enough to stop you from doing so.

“Why are you trying to ruin your lipstick? You know I like it,” He whined, lips jutting into a disappointed pout.

“Uh huh. I know. That’s why I wear this for you but I always ended up seeing you kissing someone else. So, what’s the point?”

You tugged your wrist back while Jimin drew a smile. “Come on. This is not the first time we doing this. You kissed and seduced someone else too. Fair and square, isn’t it?”

“You think I enjoyed it!?” you barked.

“Woah, chill their babe. Okay, I’m sorry, okay?” He apologized, bringing both his palm together in an apologetic manner. You instead glared at him, brows still creasing together.

“Fuck you!” Your snarl doesn’t intimidate him at all that he replied with a wide grin since he knew that you didn’t mean those words at all.

“I love you too,” he reached out for your face to cup them in his palm, squishing your cheeks gently that even you automatically leaned in for more contact since you’re too used to his affectionate touches.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” His whisper makes your eyes flicked up to meet with his face, at the same time making your expression to soften as soon as you met with the pretty face of him.

“Yes please,” With a nod, you answered. He didn’t let you wait for any other second as he crashed his plump lips on your soft one. You quickly buried your fingers into the his light blonde locks, messing them a bit while your lips busy moving in sync to his kiss as if they just found their rightful home.

--

When he arrived at the scene, he could see group of people circling around the area. Seokjin padded his way towards the crime site, carefully slipping in between the crowds who chattering and whispering at the sight of the forensic team busy taking photos and collecting evidence.

“Captain Kim,” Seokjin immediately turned around when his underling coming from behind. Namjoon then handed up some pieces of photos to him. It was the photograph of the victims and some close up to the wounds that was believed to be the cause of her death.

“Victim known as Shin Yerin, 26 years old was found dead by the bartender of the nearer club this morning. The body has been brought to the forensic for autopsy. They however assumed that the victim had been slit in the neck by a sharp weapon, thus being the cause of her death. After a few more research, victims also lost her jewelries and purse which led it to a murder and robbery case,” Namjoon summarized everything he could get from his early investigation.

“I believe the crime was committed by the same persons,” He added. Seokjin pursed his lips.

“It’s definitely them,” He sighed. He obviously was talking about you and Park Jimin.

You and Park Jimin are the infamous criminal partners that are currently being at the top of the police wanted list. Based on some witnesses, both of you are known to be a pair of attractive that would seduce their victims, lure them into a quiet spot to brutally murder them – by slashing their neck – before proceeding to fled along with valuable things belongs to the victims.

“This is their fourth victim, Captain…” Namjoon said with worries painted all over his face. “We can’t let them roaming around any longer. They will put more people in danger,”

Seokjin was silent for a while, staring at the chalk outlines that used to mark the original position of the dead victim.

“What did she do in her past?”

Namjoon let out a sigh, as if he knew what is running in his head when his superior began to throw that question. Namjoon flipped the notepad in his hand to read another information he has written down before.

“Shin Yerin, has a history involving hit and run case. The case happened around 2 months ago where she ran over a 12 years old boy. The boy died. She was arrested but later was released with no specific reason. I believe it involved bribery,”

Seokjin smirked. “Heh, I knew it,”

One thing he are sure about this couple is that they didn’t target just random people. Majority of their victims are people that have criminal past that most of them managed to get away from getting the punishment they deserve. For example, their previous victim is a man in 50s, whose the occupation is a teacher at one of the private schools in Seoul. He was once reported to have sexually assaulted some of his students, both boys and girls but he was freed from being sentence as they said that he lacked of evidence.

A week later, he was found dead in a car with his pants half undone other than the familiar slash on his neck which obviously, it was your doing.

Namjoon let out a low grunt which it immediately distracted Seokjin. “But it’s still doesn’t justify their actions, Captain. Murder is still considered as murder. Those are crimes and they need to be charged over it!” Namjoon exclaimed.

“You know something about them, isn’t it, Captain?” The younger squinted his eyes at him. “You are the only officer that managed to see their face. Why you didn’t give out their details when we ask for your testimony?”

Seokjin glared at him with brows a deep frown. “I told you that I barely saw their face. I don’t know how they look. Do you really think I’m lying? You doubt me?” The older guy had both his palm on his hips while staring deep into Namjoon’s soul.

“I’m sorry, sir. I did not mean to offend you. I’m just making sure,” Namjoon lowered his head, cowering at Seokjin’s sharp stare that didn’t stop from penetrating his face. It made him realized that he probably has spoken something he shouldn’t. Seokjin snorted.

“Whatever. Send reports on my table once they are done with the autopsy. Call me if you guys need anything,” Namjoon nodded. Seokjin turned his heels around as he slowly walking away, with Namjoon bowing at him while telling him to have a safe journey. Seokjin quietly fishing out his phone out of his jeans.

He slammed the door of his car shut once he entered it with his eyes still glued to the screen of his phone. It was shown that he was calling someone with “***” saved as the ID of the mysterious person. Seokjin quickly pressed his phone on his ears while eyes looking out if anyone is watching him at the moment.

--

Hums and giggles can be heard throughout the air. Clothes can be seen scattering on the floor of the hotel room and there’s also two figures hiding under the thick white comforters before one of them decided to pop out to take a breath after being confine under it for a long period of time. Jimin later on followed that he appeared on top of you just to cup your face and smooched your lips again and again.

The kissing got interrupted when your phone on the nightstand rang but you decided to ignore it by letting Jimin proceed with the making out, not even bothering to shove him to answer the call or anything.

But as the time goes on, the ringtones start to irritates your ears that you told Jimin to hold on so you could check on whoever the hell that was bothering you at the moment. Your eyes rolled when you see the ‘Captain Busybody’ ID popped up at the top of your screen. You never felt this confident when rejecting someone’s call, especially from that person.

“Is it him?” Jimin asked. You nodded, lips pouting.

“Ignore him,” He dived into your naked collarbone to leave another mark even though your skins are already full with his love bites he made from last night. But you never complain, instead you enjoyed the way his lips trailing down your skins, making it way to your stomach, lower and lower.

“Yeah, Jimin. Please eat me out, will you?” You demanded, inviting a Cheshire like grin on his lips.

“Of course, m’lady..”

You leaned back on the pillow, relaxing your body and let Jimin do his work when another ringing breaking the moment, making your eyes to shot open. An annoyed groan emits from your throat as you rolled to get the phone and answer it because if you don’t, he will definitely not letting you leaving in peace.

“What the fuck do you want?” No hello or hi, you straight growling at Seokjin. The male’s guess was right though.

“Sorry. Did I bother you?”

“You always bothering me. Are you not aware of that?”

“Is Jimin with you?” His question makes your eyes moving lower to look at your boyfriend who just came up to comfortably lying on your chest, one of his hand fondling with one of your boobs, treating them like a stress ball. When he saw you looking at him, he just draws an adorable smile without saying any words.

“He is. Now, what do you want?” You replied lazily.

“We found another bodies today,” His unimportant information makes you to rolled your eyes once again.

“Okay and?”

“You two did it?”

“So, what if we did it? That woman is one of the scums on this Earth too. Sleeping with your higher ups in return for a jail bail. She deserves to get her neck slashed by me,” You glanced at Jimin who obviously was proud by your witty answer. But, of course, Seokjin was not having it.

“You still can get arrested, y/n. You are literally one of the most wanted criminals right now along with Jimin! Do you ever plan to stop?”

“Blah, blah. Are you done? We are busy right now. If that’s what you want to talk about, I’m hanging up,” You wish you could throw your phone away and let Jimin fuck you senselessly like what he supposed to do.

“I’m being serious, Y/N!”

“So am I,” This time you sat up a little bit but your boyfriend still clinging on your chest, burying his face into your skin despite you have those annoyed frowns on your face since he know, the frowns aren’t made for him.

“Look, Seokjin. We broke up ages ago. Back then when you barely care about me as you are busy chasing your dream to be a police officer. Now, you got what you want and I’m happy with my life too,” Seokjin scoffed at your last statements.

“Your life? Your life as a criminal? Are you happy with that?” His question earned him a chuckle.

“Yeah, so what? I chose this. I don’t care about your nags or if you disagree with my choice, just stop sticking your nose into my business like you are my mother. We are supposed to be done long time ago!” You ended the call with a loud grunt before tossing them to the side of your bed. Jimin’s snuggling into your neck made you to close your eyes and taking a deep breathe to soothe your anger.

“You alright?” Your boyfriend brushing some strands of your hair that were sticking on your face. You nodded, drawing a tiny smile at him. He never fails not to make you feeling calmer everytime you look at those eyes. The eyes that deceive lot of people despite on how innocent they look.

“Yeah. You know, Seokjin just bothering me like what he always does,” You let out a sigh while brushing your hair back. Jimin smiled as he once again snuggling into your skins like a cat which only make you to giggle when his breathe tickling your skins.

“Understandable. I mean, I, too, wouldn’t stop bothering if you looking this gorgeous,” You burst into a laugh when his ticklish touch spreading to your sensitive spots on your neck that make you to fall your back on the mattress where even Jimin immediately get on top of you.

You stuck your tongue out to licked on your bottom lips as your palms running down his bare chest, your fingers dancing on the inked skins at his abdomen.

“I love you,” You whispered. Jimin tilted his head, lips never stop smiling at you while he rests his forearms above your head to support his weight. He somehow didn’t respond you right away to planted a soft kiss on your lips before he finally whispered something against your lips.

“I love you too,”

--

A/N : This is pretty short bcs its just introduction to the characters haha next chapter would be a flashback to y/n’s early backstory

[rose-edith]

A Frightful Affair

(Inspector Sullivan x female reader. Part One. Just trying a longer form out, not sure if I’ll start to include longer forms or just stick with the HC’s but we’ll see.)

Inspector Sullivan had to push his way through the crowd to get the the crime scene, if it was a crime scene. It had all the signs of being an accident, but you never know. As he closed on the scene through the throng of nattering old women his heart stopped. You were there, and being comforted by a WPC, Sergeant Goodfellow and Father Brown.

“Sergeant!” The Inspector called his Sergeant over. “Get these people back from here, they’re trampling the evidence. Then we need to take statements from the witnesses.”

The young man glowered at some of the gossiping women and they backed away fearfully. As the Sergeant ushered the crowd away more politely the Inspector took in the scene.

On the ground was the body of your friend, Miss Evangeline Smith. He couldn’t look down at her body for long, the manner of her death was too gruesome to withstand long scrutiny. But it seemed clear what had happened, some loose masonry had tumbled from the top of the building and in the process had dislodged a gargoyle that had fallen and tragically, crushed your friend to the pavement. The man studied the height and speed at which the gargoyle must’ve fallen, he made an educated guess that she would’ve died on impact with the ground as the heavy stone had hit her head, hard, caving her skull in.

Then there was you, clearly you and she had been shopping together as you often did on Fridays, meaning that you had witnessed it all. He made his way over to you but spoke to the WPC first. She explained that you were distressed, having seen the entire thing happen as you were just walking over to meet her. With a solemn nod he dismissed the WPC to held Sergeant Goodfellow take statements from witnesses. He turned to you, your eyes were bloodshot and you looked ill, no doubt from the shock of it.

“Y/N, this has been a terrible shock, but with your permission I’d like to take you down to the station and get you cleaned up and take a statement.” He spoke softly, not wanting to stress or startle you more.

He felt his heart lurch as your lips trembled as you tried to respond, but no sound came from your mouth, so you nodded.

Inspector Sullivan gave you a gentle smile and helped you up from the doorstep that you’d been sat down on. Once you were upright he put a hand on your lower back and pulled you just a little bit closer than strictly necessary, to make sure you’re ok. He turned to Father Brown, who was still hovering at your side.

“I can manage from here thank you Father.” His sentiments were polite but his tone was tense. “If you saw what happened I expect to see a witness statement from you included with the others. Sergeant Goodfellow can help you.”

For once the Father agreed without interruption and went straight to the kind Sergeant to make his statement.

Once he was gone Inspector Sullivan led you away from the scene, away from the sight of your dead friend and to his car. He helped you into the front and shut the door once you were safely in. By the time he’d walked round the car and got into the drivers seat you were sobbing gently, tears streaming down your face. He passed you his handkerchief and you took it gratefully, burying your face in it to hide away. He took the opportunity to check you over, aside from the mental trauma of having seen your friend killed by a falling gargoyle , you looked normal. Aside from your stockings, which were soaked in blood at the knees. He assumed that you must’ve fallen to your knees at some point after your friend had fallen and started to bleed out.

“I won’t ask if you’re feeling ok, because I know you’re not. But we’re going to follow procedure at whatever speed you’re comfortable with, and if you want to talk at any point or cry or take a break just say, I’m here for you.” He patted your knee gently but you didn’t respond, but he didn’t expect you to, you were still shaking with the sorrowful sobs that were leaving your lips. He turned the car on and started to drive.

After a cup of tea with a splash of something to strengthen your resolve and soothe your jitters you were a bit more coherent. You were sat in the interview room with Inspector Sullivan, but it was as formal or scary as you had imagined that it might be, he was being kind and gentle.

“If you’re ok with it Y/N,” his hands cupped yours across the table and stroked them “I’d like to hear in your own words what happened.”

You nodded and took a deep breath before diving into your recollection of events.

“We had agreed yesterday that we would meet outside Miss Holly’s Tea Room at 10 o’clock, and I was running a few minutes late because I’d stopped to speak to my neighbour, Mrs Gillespie, on my way out. Anyway, I was rushing along the high street and I saw her and waved. She waved back and waited where she was, she...she was smiling and looked happy and then when I was about three steps away from her she just crumbled. I didn’t see the stone falling, if only I’d looked up I could’ve warned her! Or, or, if I had been quicker I could’ve pushed her out of the way! And then she’d be safe...she’d still be...alive.” You broke down into tears again and took your hands out of his to hide your face in them. He was around the table in a flash and kneeling at your feet, he pulled your hands away from your face. He felt teary himself when he saw the look on your face, he pulled you into a hug and held you tight until your breaths started to even out again and your sniffles stopped.

“Thank you for telling me that, you’re doing so well.” He glanced down at the bloody stockings you were wearing, he supposed he had better get them taken as evidence, just in case. Though he felt sure it was an accidental death.

“Y/N I’m sorry to ask, but can I have your stockings as evidence? I can get a WPC to help you if you need.”

You shook your head. Without a word your hands slipped under your skirt and deftly unhooked your stockings. The young man sat up on the table top and turned his head away, but he was still watching from the corner of his eyes, he just couldn’t resist. You folded the stockings up and put them on the table before slipping your shoes back on; without the warmth of your stockings your legs felt cold and the blood had penetrated them anyway, staining your skin. You felt breathless when you saw your legs covered in your friends blood.

“I think I’d like to go now please. If I’m allowed?” Your voice was shaky.

He was back at your side in an instant, gently giving you a hug, stroking your back up and down to soothe you.

“I’ll take you myself, and I’ll stay with you for a while too, at least until I can get Mrs McCarthy or Father Brown to come and sit with you. You shouldn’t be alone just now.”

The Inspector was as good as his word, he saw you home and made you a bowl of soup to warm you up. He didn’t leave until Mrs McCarthy had arrived with Father Brown and Lady Felicia, none of them wanted you to be alone just now. In no time at all you were huddled under blankets and able to talk it all out with Father Brown.

“I’ll call back this evening, telephone me if you need anything. Please, anything at all.” Inspector Sullivan crouched at your feet as he said goodbye and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, he was glad that you nodded and smiled a little. But there was a long way to go yet.

Back at the station Sergeant Goodfellow read the compiled reports from the witnesses and blanched. Someone had pushed the gargoyle from he took of the building, it hadn’t been an accident at all.

It had been a murder!

[pastaraa-blog]

Even With The Enemy (Ch.2/?)

SUMMARY: A series of dead bodies turn up in Seoul and Inspector Min Yoongi is assigned to the case. The police are quick to assume that it’s a serial killer running loose but Yoongi has other ideas. There’s more to this case than meets the eye.

PAIRING: Kim Taehyung | V / Min Yoongi | Suga

!!WARNING for graphic depictions of violence!!

Also on AO3

CHAPTER 2 - JIMIN AND HANSUNG

Lee Jung In. 35 years old. His body was found in a back alley at 2 a.m. on Sunday. He had five stab wounds – one on each leg, one on each hand, and one on the chest, which directly pierced his heart and ultimately killed him.

Kim Byung Ho. 36 years old. His body was found floating on a river at 11 a.m. on Tuesday. He had multiple lacerations on his torso and back and exactly eight stab wounds, three of which hit major arteries and caused severe bleeding. He died from blood loss.

Kim Hyun Woo. 38 years old. His body was found in a ditch at 10 p.m. on Friday. His body had the most physical trauma among the three victims and showed clear signs of torture. All of his fingers had been broken and all of his nails had been removed. He had broken ribs, multiple lacerations and stab wounds, and a head injury likely caused by a blunt object. The cause of his death was a collapsed lung resulting from a stab wound on the chest.

All three bodies had traces of two chemical substances, one was designed to render the victims unconscious while the other one was a slow-acting poison that caused paralysis.

All three victims were members of the Baeksaja, a gang notorious for dealing in drug trafficking and the sex trade behind their ‘legal’ business of owning clubs in the red light district.

Yoongi closed the folder and leaned back in his chair. He looked at the clock on his wall and saw that it was half past midnight. He was probably the only one left at the station. He had been so absorbed in reading the file, he had lost track of time.

It had been a while since Yoongi came across a case as troublesome as this. All three victims were known gang members and undoubtedly had their share of enemies so narrowing it down was going to be difficult. The use of similar chemicals suggested that the crimes had been committed either by the same person or a group of people who had contact with each other. If it was a group, it could be the work of a rival gang like Yoongi guessed earlier, however, based on the reports, Yoongi was more inclined to think that the murders were committed by the same person.

According to the autopsy, several of the victims’ stab wounds were of near-identical sizes, indicating that at least one similar knife had been used on all three of them. Unless gangs were now giving out standard-issue knives to all their members, these near-identical stab wounds could mean that the knife used on all three victims may have been owned by one person.

A knock on the door interrupted Yoongi’s thoughts. He muttered a quick ‘come in’ and the door opened, revealing Namjoon.

“Hey, I’m planning to head out soon,” Namjoon said, “Are you going to stay here?”

Yoongi stretched his hands above his head and yawned. “Nah, I’m heading out with you.” He got up from his chair and gathered his things. “I’m done for tonight. This case you’ve given me has tired me out.”

“So I guess you’ve finished reading all of it?” Namjoon had the audacity to look apologetic after piling such a taxing case on Yoongi’s lap. “What do you think?”

“You couldn’t wait until tomorrow? I thought you said you were heading out.”

“Nothing comprehensive. Just your initial thoughts. I’d like to hear them while it’s fresh on your mind.”

Yoongi decided to give in. Denying Namjoon was difficult enough when he wasn’t bone weary. “I think our perp is just one person,” he said, “and this is more of a hunch right now but, judging by how the method of killing became bloodier and more gruesome with each victim, I think this was the work of someone with a personal vendetta. Either that or our perp is simply a sadistic bastard.”

“Hmm…” Namjoon nodded, “I thought the same thing, actually. Though you’re correct, it’s just a hunch right now, which is why I wanted you to take a look at the case. Hearing you say the same thing validates my initial assumptions.”

“As flattered as I am to hear that you value my opinion that much, my brain cells are pretty much dead right now. Can we save this conversation for later?” It was just as well that Namjoon and Yoongi had a friendly relationship. If this were anyone else, Yoongi would be receiving a stern reprimand for daring to talk to his superior officer in such a manner.

“Ah, sorry. I almost got carried away there. We should both get some rest. I have a feeling we’re going to have a long day tomorrow,” Namjoon stopped to look at his watch, “Or should I say, later today.”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

#

Dried leaves cracked under Jimin’s shoes as he trudged along the busy streets of Seoul. He tugged at his scarf and pulled his jacket tighter. It was nearing the end of October and the temperature had already dropped too much for his liking. Winter was going to be such a pain this year.

“Yo, Park Jimin!” A man on the street bellowed, catching the attention of bystanders. Jimin recognized the deep voice – would recognize it anywhere.

Jimin turned around to face the man. “Yo, Park Hansung! Don’t go shouting in the streets!”

The man, Hansung, gave Jimin a cheeky grin. “But you did too!”

“Yeah, but you started it!” Jimin replied, knowing full well that it made him sound like a child keeping up a stupid argument. He stopped walking and waited for Hansung to catch up to him. “What are you doing out this early? Doesn’t the shop open until later?” He asked once they were walking side by side, voice now down to an acceptable volume.

“Our vegetable delivery guy is out sick today so I’m supposed to pick up our supply from the market,” Hansung said through a yawn. He was cheerful like he usually was but now that Jimin was looking closely, it was apparent that he was tired.

“Didn’t get much sleep last night?” Jimin knew that Hansung worked multiple jobs to make ends meet but this was the first time he was seeing him this tired in the morning.

“You could say that. I haven’t had much time to sleep the past week.”

“You didn’t get another part-time job, did you?” Jimin asked, concern lacing his tone. “You can’t keep on pushing your body like that, Hansung-ah.”

“This coming from Park Jimin? The Park Jimin who stayed behind every day after training and pulled weekly all-nighters back when he was at the police academy? That Park Jimin?”

“That was a situation where only I could do something to improve my performance so I did it. This is different. If you’re short on money then you can always come to me. You don’t need to get another job. You work too much already.”

“I always say this but you’re too kind, Jimin.” Hansung gave Jimin a fond smile. “Thank you for offering but I can’t take your money.”

“Hansung, you don’t–”

“I’m doing fine on the money front, don’t worry. In fact, I didn’t get another job.” Hansung added a wink for good measure. “I was just caught up in things last week but I’m all good. I know how to pace myself.”

Jimin was still a bit skeptical – Hansung had a habit of making light of his problems so as not to worry others – but let the topic slide for the moment. “As long as you’re taking care of yourself…”

“I am, I promise. Buuut, enough about me! How about you? How was your first day at the station?”

Jimin swallowed the sigh that was his impulsive response to that question. That would only make Hansung worry. “It went well, actually. The Senior Inspector in charge of our station seems like a really nice guy and I met a Senior Officer who was very friendly and introduced me to everyone.” It wasn’t a lie. All of those things did happen on his first day and if Jimin chose to omit the part where his direct superior seemed to find him annoying and had been more than happy to foist him off onto other people as soon as possible, Hansung was none the wiser.

“That’s great! I’m happy that your first day went well. I remember you were worrying so much about your colleagues bullying you or something,” Hansung said with a teasing smirk, “I told you those stories were just made up to scare newbies and you didn’t believe me.”

“Hey, don’t make fun of me! Those things do happen! I’m just lucky I got assigned to a station with decent senior officers.” Senior Inspector Min seemed like he didn’t want to have anything to do with Jimin but he hadn’t been cruel. Gruff and aloof, maybe, but not cruel. Jimin should probably be thankful for that.

“Hmm, if you say so…” Hansung looked reasonably impressed, of what Jimin wasn’t quite sure. “But if anyone bullies you, just tell me and I’d go over there to give them a talking to!”

To anyone else, Hansung’s words probably sounded like a joke but Jimin knew that he was serious. “Hansung, I don’t think making a scene inside a police station is a good idea, but thanks for always having my back,” Jimin said. Hansung often had silly ideas but Jimin knew he always meant well.

#

Sharing a morning walk with his best friend was a balm for Jimin’s soul and he had arrived at the station in considerably high spirits. Unfortunately, not even the pleasant start to his morning was enough to shield him from the ominous air that greeted him when he stepped into Senior Inspector Min’s office.

In Senior Inspector Min’s hurry to get rid of him the day before, Jimin had forgotten to give the man a copy of his assignment papers. Jimin had thought it would be okay for him to drop by the Senior Inspector’s office early in the morning to hand the papers over but he hadn’t expected to walk into what appeared to be a very important meeting between Senior Inspector Min and Senior Inspector Kim. Judging by the clouded look on the two men’s faces, Jimin guessed that whatever it was they were talking about, it was a terrible situation that was way, way above Jimin’s pay grade.

“Were you eavesdropping?” That was Senior Inspector Min and he looked pissed. Granted, the man seemed to have a resting annoyed face but this time, Jimin could tell that he was really quite angry.

“N-no, sir.” Came Jimin’s quick denial. The last thing he wanted was for his superior officers to think that he was up to no good on his second day at work.

“Uh huh?” Senior Inspector Min didn’t look convinced. “So what, they don’t teach you how to knock at the academy?”

“Uhm, I – I was… ” Jimin felt like his heart was lodged in his throat. He contemplated the merits of telling Senior Inspector Min that he did knock before entering but the two senior inspectors seemed to have been too engrossed in their discussion to notice or to respond so Jimin decided to push the door just a little to see if there was anyone inside. It was just Jimin’s luck that Senior Inspector Kim opened the door at the same time so he had been dragged into the room without warning, effectively barging into the senior officers’ tense meeting. Jimin found the whole experience mortifying, really.

“Yoongi, please don’t scare him,” Senior Inspector Kim said and Jimin felt like he could kiss the man in gratitude. “Relax, Officer Park. I don’t believe that you were eavesdropping and I’m pretty sure forgetting to knock once in a while isn’t a punishable offense. I know I’m guilty of the same thing sometimes.”

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Senior Inspector Kim was one of the nicest, most respectable guys Jimin had ever met in his entire life. Jimin was blessed to have been assigned to this man’s station.

“Thank you, sir!” Jimin bowed ninety degrees. “And I’m sorry for barging into your meeting, sir!”

“It’s fine. We were done here anyway. I’m leaving you two.” Senior Inspector Kim clapped Jimin’s shoulder on his way out. “Yoongi, don’t be too harsh on him.”

Jimin only rose from his bow when he heard the door click shut behind him. Senior Inspector Kim was very kind about the whole thing but now, Jimin was alone with Senior Inspector Min and without a buffer, he might very well be put through the wringer by his direct superior.

Senior Inspector Min sighed. To Jimin’s relief, the words from Senior Inspector Kim seemed to have mollified him. “I suppose I should have told you this yesterday but, Rule Number One – knock if you want to enter my office. If you don’t hear an answer, don’t come in. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Rule Number Two, don’t ever eavesdrop on any conversation happening inside this office. Or any office for that matter. Clearances exist for a reason and there are things you don’t need to know.”

“Yes, sir.” Jimin felt that particular scolding was underserved as he hadn’t been eavesdropping but he wasn’t about to talk back to his superior officer like that.

“And Rule Number Three.” Senior Inspector Min rose from his seat and walked towards Jimin. “Don’t be so fucking meek all the damn time. I don’t appreciate insubordination but I hate mindless obedience even more. There’s a fine line between the two, learn to thread it, otherwise, you’ll never survive this job. Do you understand?” It was probably only Jimin’s imagination but there seemed to be a hint of concern in Senior Inspector Min’s tone.

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

to be continued…

[dhades-diaferia]

White Masquerade (Part 1)

(Sid x MC) MC name: Melissa

Want some mystery? Here’s one for ya!

Warning: Death scenes! So yes, gruesome scenes! 

Summary: Sid was trying to help King Byron for information about killing of criminals. Apparently, King Byron had found death of criminals when he got the the crime scene. He asked Sid to find some information on who killed those criminals. But the more he found, the more bewilder it gets...

                                                   ______________

“That’s all?” Byron asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Albert said. “The criminals that murdered Duke Henry was dead when we got there. We also found this.” Albert handed a envelop contained several papers. “Those are the evidence that this criminal had murdered Duke Henry.”

Byron frowned, “Someone got there before us again.”

Albert lowered his head, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Byron scanned the paper and stood up, “Al, send me Sid here please.”

Albert blinked in confusion but quickly nodded, “Yes, Your Majesty.”

                                                  ______________

“Hey, tomorrow is your day off, right?” Sid asked.

I smiled, “Yes. Is there something you would like to go?”

“How about you come over to my manor tomorrow? We could do something fun,” Sid winked.

I gasped, “Jess! I missed her already!”

Sid rolled his eyes, “You ruined the mood!”

I giggled and kissed him, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Sid smirked, “See ya.”

                                                  ______________

When Sid got home, he saw Sir Albert was already outside of his manor. Frowning, Sid walked up to Albert.

“You need some-” Sid started but Albert cut him off.

“King Byron need to see you. Now.”

Sid frowned even deeper, “Man, if he’s calling me that late...”

Albert scowled, “Yes, I know. I will increase the expenses.”

Sid smirked, “A deal is a deal.”

                                                  ______________

Byron handed Sid the envelope. “The criminal who murdered Duke Henry was killed by someone unknown.”

Sid read the content, “Isn’t this person unknown did the same for the last few criminals?”

Byron frowned, “I’m not so sure. That’s why I need you to investigate this for me. Starting tomorrow.”

Sid widen his eyes, “H-hold up! Tomorrow is an exception!”

Albert frowned, “And why’s that?”

Sid sighed, “Tomorrow, the princess has her day off and I want to spent the day with her. So, no. I can’t do tomorrow.” Sid stood up.

“I will increase you expenses.” Byron tried to persuade Sid.

Sid shook his head, “no means no.”

“Alright then. You start tonight if you can’t do tomorrow,” Byron said.

Sid looked at Byron with disbelief, “Tonight?”

Byron nodded, “I want to track where this mystery person is. I want to know who and why he would do this.”

Sid sighed, as if a signal that he had lost, “Fine. I’ll start tonight. But tomorrow is a no.”

Byron nodded, “Do what you see fit.”

Sid nodded, and both had made an agreement.

                                                  ______________

Sid frowned as he looked at the evidences of what happened to the criminals. All the death of the criminals has one thing in common: They were killed in a specific manner. All were brutally killed, which involves lots of blood spill. The death are normally caused by a dagger, either stabbed on the chest or sliced through the abdomen. But certain death contained poison in the dead’s body.

“The poison may be an act that if the person hasn’t died from the attack yet or to make sure that person is actually dead. If he wants to make sure that the criminals are really dead, then that means... he doesn’t want his idenity to be discovered.” Sid thought to himself. “But why would he kill those criminals?”

As the night falls, Sid had discovered more: The criminals who were killed by the mystery person had either killed another human being that was a father with a family.

However, the more Sid found, the more it doesn’t add up. There were pictures contained the evidence that the criminal had committed the crime. As if the mystery person knew it was coming.

“Why would he take pictures and didn’t save those people who were being murdered? What is he trying to do?” Sid frowned in confusion.

Suddenly he found something when he heard a knock. Sid jumped from the sudden knock. “W-who is it?”

“Sid?” An angelic voice came from the other side, “It’s me.”

Sid stared at the door with disbelief. It’s morning already? I didn’t get any sleep at all!!

Sid opened the door and meet an angelic smile.

                                                  ______________

I stood at the door as Sid stared at me in confusion. I started to worry, “I-is something the matter?”

Sid quickly replaced his confusion with a smirk and walked to the hallway and closed the door behind him as if he was hiding something, “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

I nodded, knowing he was lying but I will let it slide it for now.

Sid cupped my cheeks and looked at my eyes.

I blinked in confusion, “Sid?”

“Did you sleep well?” Sid asked.

I smiled, “Not really. I was too excited to see you today.”

Sid smirked, “Excited, huh?”

He kissed me softly, “How about we visit the town?” He whispered.

I smiled, “Sure!”

Sid smiled back and held my hand, “Let go.”

Sid and Melissa was walking around the town when they saw a group of people.

“There’s a murder again!” A women exclaimed.

Sid’s eyes widen. It’s the murder? Is it the same person who caused it?

Sid hurriedly went to the crime scene, dragging Melissa with him. Once he got there, there was a man laying on a pool of blood.

Sid heard Melissa gasped and she turned around as her face turned pale.

Who did this? and Why?

[likexporcelain]

Anatomy of a Shadow (Chapter 1/9) - Jonerys

Summary: While isolating herself at her family's vacation home on the small Pacific Northwestern island of Dragonstone, Daenerys stumbles upon a crime scene which leads her to form an intense bond with a mysterious and possibly dangerous young man who won't speak to her, touch her, or even show her his face. Jon Snow is her shadow on the wall, but is he really protecting her from those who would do her harm, or is he simply leading harm right to her doorstep? Daenerys is the sun in his dark sky, but is she really worth protecting?

Rating: Explicit (for eventual and continual violence and some smut)

First chapter up on Ao3 -- see additional tags/notes/warnings there

DAENERYS

It is raining, which is a good thing. It's much more difficult to follow someone when it's raining, right? Let the water wash away any trace of me – my finger prints, shoe prints, the tire marks from my Jetta as I speed down the highway. No. The rain won't make a difference. I'll have to board the ferry to get to my family's old vacation home. That means buying a ticket, showing my I.D. and – fuck – I'll have to use my credit card because the only cash I have is a couple crumpled up five dollar bills stashed in my glove box. What am I doing? Running away is probably the stupidest thing I could do. Only guilty people run.

Still, I stand in line and buy the ticket to Dragonstone. It's my family's house after all. It would be only natural that after suffering such a traumatic event as finding my roommate with a knife dug into the center of her chest, lying between the beds in our dorm room that I would feel the need to get away, go someplace quiet to clear my head. That is what I'm really doing. I just need to get away from everyone and get these images out of my head. The detectives will soon figure out that I've left school and it will be easy for them to discover where I've gone. But that's okay, because I'm not trying to hide from them, because I did nothing wrong. Nothing they can prove, I hope.

The moon is up and the rain is still falling when I make it to the house. It's large by normal standards – three bedrooms, two bathrooms, an open main living area with floor to ceiling windows that overlook the sea – but my dad is rich and growing richer by the day, so this home was eventually stamped unworthy of a Targaryen vacation. It's been years since anyone has set foot in this house, as evident by all of the dust and the cold, musty smell I'm bombarded with as soon as I walk in. White linens cover expensive furniture and priceless artwork no one cares about anymore.

Thankfully, my dad has still been paying the bills for this place because the lights turn on when I hit the light switches and the water runs when I turn on the bathtub facet in the master bathroom. I make up the king sized bed while the tub fills with scalding water. The basin is large enough to fit three of me, so I have plenty of time to kill. I find candles and a box of matches under the bathroom sink and arranged them around the tub, light them, then turn out the sconce lighting. I prefer darkness. The tub has jets, but I have no use for them. I prefer quiet too.

When the water is high, I turn off the facet and step in. Just standing in the center of the tub, the water reaches my knees, so hot that I think my skin will bubble, but I revel in the pain. I want more. Slowly, I lower myself with closed eyes, teeth digging into my bottom lip so hard I can taste blood.

Blood.

Blood on the floor, spilling from the chest of my roommate, pooling at either side of her, expanding like round red wings ready to fly her up to heaven, or maybe hell. I hadn't known her very well. Maybe she was bad. As bad as me. No. There is no one as bad, as sick, as me.

Blood under my feet, on my knees where I knelt beside her, checking her pulse. When I had raised my hand to my mouth, I could taste it, colder than I'd expected, sweeter.

Blood around me, covering me, filling me. I open my eyes and I see all the red. I'm bathing in my roommates blood. Missandei. That was her name, but then again, I didn't really care about her. She hadn't mattered. All that mattered was the blood.

I submerge myself up to my neck, letting the heat consume me. My hand is between my legs, rubbing the tender, burning flesh, but there's no use. It's not the same. No matter how vivid the memories are, no reverie could recreate the way I felt that night with that taste in my mouth and the sight of the red pools growing in size.

For a half hour, I try, but just can't cum. I can't even get close. It's been too long. Just three days and I'm already suffering withdrawals. I thought the first time was supposed to linger. I thought I could live off of her death for years.

When the water turns cold, I pull the plug on the drain and sob until I am left lying in the middle of the tub, hugging my knees to my chest, wondering how many days I will have to myself before everyone realizes what sort of a girl I really am. Daenerys Targaryen. Beautiful, smart, rich. Possessed, deranged, dangerous.

Evil.

* * * * *

I wake up early the next morning. I'm not usually a morning person, but sleep was hard to come by when I was so convinced that at any moment one of the detectives I'd met the night of Missandei's unfortunate murder would knock on my door and ask me why I had left school, left Seattle, without notifying them. They would be suspicious, and I would eventually crack under their questioning.

But no one knocked.

The sun is rising over the trees, casting a shine over the calm ocean water that I watch from the back deck. There are some old Swiss Miss packets in one of the kitchen cupboards and I make myself a mug, but that is about the extent of the food supply here. I will have to go to the grocery store. Use my credit card again, but I suppose that at this point, it hardly matters. My fate is sealed. All I can do now is live a peaceful life for however many days, or hours, I have left.

I change into one of the few outfits I brought with me – just essentials, stuffed into a small gym bag – and tie my long, Targaryen-silver hair up in a messy pony tail. I don't bother with makeup, because impressing people isn't part of my life anymore. I am different now. No longer an over-achieving college junior. No longer the sweet daughter of one of the state's richest businessmen. My entire life is this empty house now, on this scantily populated island.

There isn't a cloud in the sky as I walk to the market, about a two mile hike, and the air smells fresh from last night's storm. So fresh I wonder for a moment if the rain had worked on me as it had on the air. Am I clean now too? Have all my sins washed away into the sea? Is that why I am walking into town right now and not riding in the back of a police car?

The closest neighbor to my family's house is half a mile down the road. Unless they've moved, it belongs to a retired couple. A retired man and his wife, I should say. She'd never worked a day in her life. He was a finance man. Hedge funds, or investment banking. Maybe both. Is there even a difference? Who knows. Either way, he's a boring old man who has too much money and never smiles despite having everything anyone could ever want. That's probably why he and my father always got along.

Sure enough, as I pass their impressive abode, Mrs. Baratheon is in the front garden. Her eyes widen when they fall to me and I raise my hand in a wave. I am always recognizable from a distance, due to the odd coloring of my hair. Or, I guess I should say, the odd absence of color. Even whiter than my alabaster skin. I stop walking so that she can approach me, smiling wide.

“My, my. Little Daenerys Targaryen? I haven't seen you since you were. . . How old were you? Fifteen?”

I smile sweetly. It's easy to lie to people who don't suspect anything of me. In a way, I'd been doing that my whole life. Any time I would drift into a gruesome daydream and someone asked “What are you thinking about?” I would smile sweetly and lie.

“You're looking well, Mrs. Baratheon,” I tell her, even though she really doesn't. Her hair is stringy and her face is wrinkled. Her gardening clothes are noticeably expensive, though, so there's that.

She brushes away my complement, not buying it, but blushes nonetheless. “Is your father and brother here? Gosh, I haven't seen them in ages either.”

“They don't come here much anymore. Viserys is down in California working on some silly nonsense project with his Silicon Valley friends. We don't exactly keep in touch. Dad's simply grown tired of the fog. He's more of a Hawaii man now. It's good to be back here. This was always my favorite place growing up.”

“Mine too! Well, that's why I insisted on moving here full-time. It does mean that Stannis is away from me quite often, but I manage. He's been working again, though only part-time. It's hard for men like him to sit still.”

“My father is the same way. His job is like a third child – his favorite child.”

Mrs. Baratheon claps her hands in front of her. “Where are my manners? Would you like to come in for some coffee? A bagel? Stannis isn't home. He's out of town until tomorrow, so you won't have to sit through any of his boring economics lectures.”

I take a breath, staring down the road while thinking the proposal over. Today more than any other day should be treated as a stop-and-smell-the-roses day, so I accept. “A bagel sounds lovely, but I'll only stay for a bit. I'm actually on my way to the market now, but it's so far and I'm famished.”

“Better fuel up then!” She exclaims, placing her hand on my shoulder and leading me up the path to her home, so lavish it makes mine feel modest. Marble floors cover every square foot of the main living area and a grand stone fireplace stretches up twenty feet to the ceiling. A staircase with a hand-carved banister curves around a crystal chandelier, leading up to a second floor overhang. A five foot tall portrait bordered by a gold frame hangs on the wall opposite the fireplace. Mr. and Mrs. Baratheon posing with their daughter, Shireen, dressed like they are characters in a Dickens novel and standing in what looks to be a drab library.

While Mrs. Baratheon brings a tray of bagels and coffee into the living room, I ask “How is your daughter? She must be a teenager by now.”

“Oh.” Her nose scrunches as she shakes her head. “Yes, yes. She's well. We have her in a boarder academy in the Northeast. She says she hates it there, but she's always been a complainer. It's good for her. I'm hoping that some time spent around other girls will do her some good. Better than hanging around here all the time, getting under toe, that's for sure.”

Nodding once, I find myself feeling odd about the response. There was no warmth in the woman's voice. I'd liked to imagine that if I'd ever have a daughter, I would speak of her warmly. I've never experienced real love or even simple affection for another human, but a child is different. I think I could love a child. But, that doesn't matter anymore either, because I will never have one of those, unless those news articles about how male prison guards treat female inmates is accurate.

I don't partake in any coffee, but I pick up one half of a toasted sesame seed bagel and smear it with Strawberry jam from a crystal bowl. Mrs. Baratheon takes a seat on the couch, but I remain standing, my eyes catching the shine of something interesting perched on the reclaimed wood mantel above the hearth.

Resting on a stand made of iron, is a knife – a dagger? – with a gold handle, intricately carved in a flourishing design. The blade is curved and at least a foot in length, clean and sharp. I gravitate toward it, my hand raising, fingers erecting to brush the smooth steel. It's beautiful, not just in appearance, but in utility, in how much damage it could do with just one swift thrust, one quick slice.

“Valyrian steel,” Mrs. Baratheon's voice rings from behind me, dripping with indifference like the daggers presence bores her. I feel offended and briefly wonder if she'd let me have it if I asked. Then again, one swift thrust, one quick slice, and I could simply take it. “Stannis brought it home with him a year ago. Some antique ceremonial weapon from one of those Eastern barbarian cultures. Personally, I think it's gaudy and dangerous, but my husband loves the thing, and I'm sure it cost him a pretty penny. I figure I'll sell it once the cigars catch up with him.”

Fingertips sliding down the flat steel surface to the golden handle, I wish to pick it up, just to see how heavy it is. It has to be heavier than the hunting knife I'd thieved from a bedroom in the frat house I'd attended a party at a week before my roommate was murdered. I'd been drawn to it the same way I am drawn to this Valyrian steel dagger, but to compare the two would be like comparing my Jetta to my father's new Maserati.

“Daenerys?”

My eyes close and behind my eyelids, I see red.

“Daenerys?”

Mrs. Baratheon's hand lands on my shoulder and my eyes snap open as I jump, pulling my hand away from the dagger.

“I'm sorry,” I say quickly.

With a smile, she says “No need to apologize. That thing is spooky as heck. Gives me a good fright nearly every day.”

While I finish my bagel, I sit with my back to the dagger and try to focus on Mrs. Baratheon's words rather than the pulsing of her jugular vein, prominent due to her lithe frame, and as soon as I've had my fill, I thank her for her hospitality and leave, but not before agreeing to come over for dinner tomorrow night. “Stannis would love to catch up with you,” Mrs. Baratheon had insisted. I don't want to come over, but I hadn't prepared an excuse to get out of it, and I figure there is a decent chance I'll already be in handcuffs by dinner time tomorrow anyway.

At the market, I optimistically purchase a weeks worth of pre-made salads, stove-top dinners and ingredients for sandwiches, quesadillas and spaghetti, along with a carton of eggs. As the cashier checks me out and bags my groceries – I'd sprung for a couple of one-dollar reusable bags because, fuck it – I turn my eyes up to the TV mounted to the wall. Seattle news. A murder, according to the headline and my heart races for a moment thinking they are talking about Missandei's murder. I half expect my photo to pop up with “Wanted for Questioning” captioned below. However, as I read the subtitles, I learn they are speaking of a different murder, a more important murder, because the man who has died was a politician. One of those conspiracy theorist-types who didn't have a shot at winning, but whose campaign was really just a way to bolster a certain subset of humans who thought they deserved more rights than anyone else simply for being white and stupid.

“The sketch seen on your screen now is that of a man police suspect is connected to the crime. He was seen by a neighbor leaving the home of the victim the night of the murder. If you have any information as to the identity or whereabouts of this man, please contact the Seattle police department immediately.”

I squint my eyes at the sketch, wondering if he is someone I know, but even if I did know him, it's not as if I'm going to contact the police about it. I am trying to avoid a murder investigation, not insert myself into a new one. But, I do not recognize the man at all. His hair is cut short to the scalp without any style, his face is covered in stubble not long enough to be considered an actual beard, his lips are thin and his cheeks look dirty, though that is probably just sloppy shading on the sketch artist's part.

“This incident follows just one day after the suspicious slaying of a nineteen year old King's Landing University student. So far, police say they have found no connection between these two murders, but have yet to rule this out as a possibility.”

“Miss?” asked the young, pimply cashier. “That'll be forty-seven fifty.”

I turned away from the TV, offer her a smile and my credit card.

Another murder. And one that is much higher in profile to mine – I mean, to my roommate's. This could only be good news, right? Scum bag or not, the assassination of a political figure will always take precedent over the stabbing of a marginally popular coed, right?

When my card is returned to me, I take my bags with another smile, but this time it is genuine. Maybe I'll have more time left than I'd thought.

* * * * *

JON

It's cold in this room. Damp. There's a leak somewhere. I hear it drip at night, but I have yet to find it's source. I don't like it here in the North where it's cold and wet and drippy. I feel like it's been years since I've felt the sun on my face. Maybe it has been years. The room is cold and so am I, even in my corduroy pants, sweater, gloves and my mask. Everything black.

“Are you a fucking moron?! Like, an actual fucking moron?!” shouts Theon Greyjoy. He's loud. Always loud. I don't like him because he's loud. It makes it difficult to hear other things, more important things, like if someone is walking up behind me or if a gun is being drawn from a holster. He's yelling at the kid because of something he saw on the news, but I've learned that most of what Theon says isn't worth listening to so I focus on listening through him, to the sound of the kid rubbing his hands anxiously across his jeans.

“I'm sorry! I forgot to put my mask on before going back outside, but it was three in the morning! How was I supposed to know some fat old man would be walking his dog at three in the morning!” the kid replies.

Gendry isn't really a kid. He's around the same age as the rest of us, but he's younger in spirit I guess. It isn't an insult that I think of him as a kid. I wish I could be a kid again. Change something. Go down a different path. One different than my brother's. It's too late now, though. I am who I am now. Only twenty-one but already an old dog unable to learn any new tricks, like being a normal person who goes outside during the day instead of sitting in a cold, damp, drippy basement until the sun is gone.

The sun. What does she look like again?

“You're not! You're supposed to know never to take your fucking mask off!” Theon retorts, clenching his fists in the fabric of Gendry's t-shirt. “Even if that mother fucker hadn't fucking seen you – There's probably fucking hair and skin and your fucking boogers all over that son of a bitch's house now! You're in the fucking system! I swear to God, if they get your finger prints I'm going to fucking --”

“I didn't take off my gloves, man!” The kid's hands are up like he's about to be arrested. “And my mask was only off for a minute! They're not going to find anything!”

Theon releases the kid from his grip, plants one hand on his hip while thrusting his other in my direction, pointing at me. “This fucking psycho doesn't even take his fucking mask off to take a fucking shower and you can't keep yours on long enough to get out of the fucking house of the dude we just fucking killed?!”

Still listening through Theon, I hear the sound of a gun sliding against the leather of a belt. It's coming from behind me. Then footsteps, quick and heavy. In a second, the gun is digging into Theon's temple with Ramsay on the trigger side.

“I think you owe my brother an apology,” he sneers. I can't see his face, but I know that one corner of his mouth is lifted in a smirk. He wants to shoot Theon. He's wanted to for a long time. He would shoot everyone he meets if he could get away with it. Maybe even me.

Eyes wide with fear, Theon takes a hard swallow and says “Put the gun away. I was just pissed, alright? Let's not over react.”

“That didn't sound like an apology.” Ramsay turns his head to me and I was right, he's smirking. “That didn't sound like an apology, did it, Jon?”

I don't respond. No words, no shake or nod of my head. It wouldn't matter anyway. Ramsay does what he wants and I don't try to stop him. That's how it's always been. I wonder if he's actually going to pull the trigger this time. It would be a shame, not because I don't want to see Theon die, but because I've always hated guns. Quick, loud, and uncaring. That's Ramsay, though.

Before I can wonder too long, the scene is interrupted by our leader – our boss, I suppose. A boss who pays us not just in money, but also in warm bodies to kill.

“Put it away,” Roose demands in his dry, bored voice. “We have one more project and then we'll be out of the state. Gendry made a serious error, but it doesn't change our game plan.”

Ramsay complies, sliding the gun back behind him, into the waistband of his pants. He always listens to Roose Bolton. I think he sees the balding, middle-aged man with almost as little personality as me as a father figure. Maybe I should feel happy about that, because Ramsay never had a real father, but I don't feel happy about it because I don't know if I can feel happy about anything anymore.

Sitting in this cold, damp, drippy room of this cold, damp, drippy basement, we go over the mission again. Though he acts like what the kid did is no big deal, Roose doesn't trust him anymore, which makes him not trust any of us anymore, so after we go over the mission, we go over it again, and again. The target is some money man – I don't bother learning names anymore – who helps to launder money for foreign dictators or some such thing. Roose always makes sure to tell us all the reasons why a person is better off dead, but it never really matters. He could tell us the target is a teenage beauty queen with Ivy League ambitions and a spotless record and we would still show up at her house and take care of business.

Any murderer who claims to have a code, is a liar. I surely don't have a code, unless hating guns constitutes a code, but then again, I'm not a murderer. Not in the literal sense of the term anyway. I've never killed anyone. Not one person. Ever. I wouldn't be able to, and sometimes I feel weak because of it. Even the kid can kill, but I can't. I watch. I watch and then, when the job is done, I clean. That's why Roose isn't worried about Gendry's fingerprints or hair being found. It's because I cleaned. It's my job. It's what I'm good at. I listen, I watch, I clean. And I never take off the mask.

Well. . . not never. Theon was wrong. I do take it off to shower, because showers are a safe place when the bathroom door is locked. There's a bathroom in this basement we've been calling home for the past week. It's small and there is mold growing in the corner behind the sink that I still haven't fully eradicated. I wait until everyone else is asleep and then I go in, lock the door, and turn the water in the shower stall on. Until the shower heats up, the bathroom is even colder than the rest of the basement and as I disrobe, my skin tightens and stings and twitches in it's yearning for shelter.

There is a mirror above the sink, rusted on the edges and speckled with toothpaste and whatever else. I look at myself when my clothes are off and in a pile on the floor. I stare at my chest and stomach. My muscles are made more prominent by the fact that I haven't eaten in a day. Food is hard to come by while we are on missions because the need to lay low is even greater. Across my chest and my stomach are long, jagged, discolored scars. Every night I look at them and think back to the day I acquired them. On my knees in a filthy alleyway.

The mask is always last to come off. I have to prepare myself every time. The pain I feel without it's warm cloth covering my head and neck and face is real. I've grown so accustomed to always having my breathing partially compromised by the fabric over my mouth that I can no longer inhale normally without it. I take short, shallow breaths through my teeth. My eyes have grown so used to seeing through the fabric as well that light burns my eyes now without it. I have to unscrew two of the three bulbs mounted in an industrial light fixture above the mirror just to stand it.

When the mask is off, I look at my face, but never for too long. I'm pale, a ghost of a man, and there are scars there too, making me look older than I am, making me look ugly. I've grown a short beard, thinking it would detract from the scars, but I am still hideous. My dark hair is long too, and greasy from always being cocooned.

Steam envelops me now and my image blurs in the fog, relieving me of my own haunting reflection.

[verdigrisprowl]

Jan 4 random movie night - Mindhunter: Episodes 1-5

On Rung’s recommendation and with Soundwave’s participation, Prowl’s trying out a new TV show, about FBI agents trying to develop a new method to track down serial killers based on what they can guess about their psyches from the gruesome crime scenes they leave behind. Prowl is not exactly persuaded of the validity of the science behind the technique, but he considers the show a work of fiction and so isn’t too fussed by it. There’s almost too much psychology in the show for him to handle, but so far it’s been tolerable.

But, he’s enjoying the mysteries, he likes that the main character is a socially incompetent but brilliant do-gooder who no one really likes but has proven very successful regardless, and the show’s spawning some great conversation with Soundwave.

ItsyBitsySpyers 6:54 pm *One couch, one Soundwave, one working caster, and another surprisingly large stash of fuel, because he's been using more than usual lately. Blame the interface, constant flying, and severed limb.* FakeProwl 6:55 pm *One Prowl, who's very curious about what it is Bonecrusher and Scavenger did. They weren't willing to fess up.* ItsyBitsySpyers 6:58 pm *Lifts his helm to look up at Prowl just so he can dip it again in an appropriately respectful manner.*

[[Greetings, O Captain, my Captain. Thank you for the suggestion.]] FakeProwl 7:01 pm *Stops dead. And for a second, a self-conscious but pleased little smile creeps across his face.*

*It hastily disappears, though. Back to neutral.* The credit goes to Rung, he recommended it to me. *He takes his seat, then nods at Soundwave's welded and braced arm.* Is THIS what they did to you? What happened? ItsyBitsySpyers 7:06 pm *He'd hoped one would. He's pleased with and proud of Prowl for taking that step. There'll be a few details to go over once Prowl actually settles into his position of authority, of course, but that can wait.*

[[He will transfer his gratitude if he sees the mech.]] *Nods to his arm.* [[It is. Scavenger approached him on Bonecrusher's behalf and punched his arm off.]]

*Casually, like having a limb severed is no big deal.* FakeProwl 7:08 pm He did WHAT?! *It's a big enough deal! Especially when the mech who lost his arm is a nigh-on undefeatable gladiator.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:13 pm *Soundwave uses his good hand to motion for Prowl to quiet down.*

[[It's fine. He needed to have the joint replaced anyway; it's been weak and poorly repaired since the first time his arm was severed.]] *And now it's been given proper treatment, as Prowl can no doubt see.* [[It made Scavenger look impressive in front of Bonecrusher, evened out what he owed Bonecrusher, gave him a reason to stop avoiding the hospital, and lets the Constructicons think he is more fragile than he really is. He's pleased.]] FakeProwl 7:15 pm *Well. That was all personally rational and reasonable. Prowl still didn't like knowing Soundwave had been so badly damaged.* ... Take care of it while it heals. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:17 pm *Nod.* [[Of course.]]

*Then, after a moment:* [[...He does appreciate your concern.]] FakeProwl 7:19 pm Good. Because it's not leaving until that brace does. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:20 pm [[In a couple of weeks. He promises.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 7:21 pm *He still has to pick Prowl up like he said he would when Prowl got his freedom, after all.* FakeProwl 7:22 pm *Nod.* I'm sure you've got more than enough spare limbs to compensate for the loss, but, if you find yourself in need of another couple, you have my comm. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:24 pm *Appears to think this over. In reality, he's already noted that and is letting Prowl sit in the hopes his reply will be more amusing for the brief silence.*

[[He -would- like one around his shoulders while we watch.]] FakeProwl 7:25 pm *A tiny huff.* I think I can manage that. *Drapes an arm around Soundwave's shoulders, careful of the fresh welds.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:26 pm [[Hmm. Good. Good.]] *Settles in, minding not to get the brace snagged on Prowl's fingers as he wiggles into place.* [[Shall we?]] FakeProwl 7:27 pm Let's. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:28 pm *The tiniest startle. What big font the show has. The better to see words with, he supposes.* [[The location must be very important.]] FakeProwl 7:30 pm *Pennsylvania. Has Prowl ever been to Pennsylvania?* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:30 pm ((HAHA)) [[...Sectioned? She wanted to have him cut into pieces?]] FakeProwl 7:31 pm Involuntarily committed to psychiatric care. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:32 pm [[Ah.]] *Slight frown.* [[Strange choice of word. But he sees, thank you.]] FakeProwl 7:33 pm *starts.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:33 pm *Joins.* FakeProwl 7:33 pm *... well that was a hell of a start to the show* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:34 pm *Soundwave leans forward.* [[He has heard of these old recording devices.]] FakeProwl 7:34 pm ... I have—had—a friend who was a hostage negotiator. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:34 pm *Hmmwhat? Focus back on Prowl. Listening.* FakeProwl 7:35 pm I'm fairly certain that he's a walking example of why Functionism is wrong, because I don't know how he got the position, but he's the single most socially inept bot I have ever known. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:36 pm [[...Did they often end like the one we just witnessed...?]] FakeProwl 7:36 pm I didn't know him then. And I'm a little concerned to find out. FakeProwl 7:38 pm I met him only a couple of times before the war, never saw him work, and by the time I got to know him he was a soldier and a detective in his free time. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:38 pm [[Who are they? Does he know them?]] FakeProwl 7:38 pm Nightbeat of Yuss. *listens carefully to the lecture on hostage negotiation* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:40 pm *Light wrinkling of faceplates.* [[He has heard of them.]] FakeProwl 7:44 pm ... For the record, on Earth, the majority of murders are still between people who know each other. The claim that murder has become something largely between strangers is false. ItsyBitsySpyers 7:45 pm [[It is a poor one.]] *Mental equivalent of a mutter at her "do you like my approach" thing.*

[[Was it false at the time this is set?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 7:47 pm *...This conversation they're having feels somewhat familiar.* FakeProwl 7:48 pm I'd have to look it up, but from what I've seen, that massive a demographic shift in crime would likely have been evident while I was on Earth. FakeProwl 7:50 pm *Prowl knows it's a variation on conversations he's had plenty of times.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:54 pm *Minor optic roll. At least it's back to the police business.* FakeProwl 7:54 pm *optics glaze over for the organics fucking.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:54 pm *At least they're on the same wavelength on that.* FakeProwl 7:55 pm *... what IS a backroom boy?* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:55 pm *He doesn't know. He's looking it up right now.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:56 pm [[...Someone who does important thinking and work for an organization in secret. How is that something not to aspire to?]] FakeProwl 7:59 pm Ah. Well, those aren't the people who are respected. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:00 pm [[But they get what needs to be done, done.]] FakeProwl 8:01 pm Of course they do. But the people in charge don't respect them for that. And will ignore their opinions as often as they think they can. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:05 pm *Disgruntled puff. It's true. He still thinks it's not the best idea to tell someone trying to get something done "do you want to be mistaken for someone who gets something done?" if you're trying to discourage them.* FakeProwl 8:07 pm *Unless the person you're talking to also disrespects them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:07 pm *Fffffair point.* FakeProwl 8:09 pm *Hey, brilliant law enforcement mind who's totally clueless about normal relationships with other people. Prowl can sympathize with that.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:10 pm *Glance.* [[For the record, he is not intimidated.]] FakeProwl 8:11 pm *Glances back* I haven't been law enforcement as long as you've known me. Talk to me in a week. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:13 pm *A thin but wide smile.* [[He'll be sure to do that.]] FakeProwl 8:14 pm *they're saying a name that sounds like "Froid" a whole lot* *while talking about psychology.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:15 pm *Has not met a Froid and does not know to be intrigued by that.* FakeProwl 8:16 pm *it's making Prowl nervous.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:17 pm *Visibly?* FakeProwl 8:18 pm *for a little bit, he went very still.* *but now he's just normal still.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:19 pm *Then it'll have been noted, but it will probably take at least another few incidents for him to think something connected is going on.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:23 pm ((ah gotta pause be back in like three minutes)) FakeProwl 8:24 pm *ugh, can't stand those people. the ones that lash out at the people who are trying to help because they're upset. as if saying "I can't tell who the murderer is" is the same as saying "I'm the murderer."* FakeProwl 8:27 pm ... So what's the other one's solution? Does he think they SHOULD make up things to tell the officer that they don't know with any certainty? He's telling the main character that he's full of scrap because he said they don't know anything. I didn't hear him say otherwise—I didn't hear him offer anything. He's just mad at the main character for admitting they can't conclude anything. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:31 pm [[It doesn't make any sense to be mad about that. Were they not on that trip to find answers to the things they don't understand? Admitting they don't is -important-.]] FakeProwl 8:31 pm Exactly. Claiming they've figured out more than they have—making up rubbish to offer the officer—will only achieve two things: it will feed their egos, and it will hinder the case. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:32 pm [[Three things. If they do find a way afterward, it will make others unlikely to pay it attention.]] FakeProwl 8:33 pm Mm. That too. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:34 pm [[Eurgh.]] ((...*checks the name on the teacher's actor because the voice is familiar*)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:36 pm ((*doesn't recognize. damn.*)) FakeProwl 8:40 pm ... How can he claim that he's an authority on criminal behavior and psychology when he won't even deign to speak to the criminals he claims to be an authority on. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:41 pm [[And risk proving himself wrong? Losing status?]] *Soundwave is only half looking at the screen.* FakeProwl 8:41 pm *Huff.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:44 pm *His turn to huff.* FakeProwl 8:46 pm He really needed a better cover story before going in. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:47 pm [[...Why would he want that for himself.]] FakeProwl 8:48 pm I don't think he's talking about what he wants. I think he's judging, from a practical standpoint, what he believes would let society get the results they want out of him. FakeProwl 8:51 pm The criminals I've known are all mostly quite self-aware about the difference between their behavior and what society expects out of them. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:51 pm [[No arguments.]] FakeProwl 8:52 pm He wasn't asked "what do you want," but "what do you think society should do with you." ItsyBitsySpyers 8:55 pm [[...Good point. He can't say he would have agreed with what he knew society would want to do to him.]] *Pause.* [[What some in it still think should happen to him.]] [[Though most of them are at least a third as accomplished.]] FakeProwl 8:56 pm ... I... don't think that's what that hole is for. *is learning SO MANY new things about human anatomy and the things you definitely shouldn't do with them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:58 pm *Indeed.* FakeProwl 9:01 pm ... This time, he does have a point. There IS a distinct probability that that's all manipulation. FakeProwl 9:02 pm He was asking him about his psychological history, asking "how does this make you feel," with his little notepad out to take notes—and he fed him back tailor-made psychological explanations for his behavior. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:02 pm [[Perhaps. Though there's something to be learned from that too.]] FakeProwl 9:04 pm Oh, there's always something to be learned from someone lying. As long as you know it's lying. You learn, for instance, what he's been taught a psychologist looks for. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:05 pm [[And then not to be that, he assumes?]] FakeProwl 9:06 pm Oh, no, if that one was lying, he was lying by trying to be exactly what a psychologist looks for. He presented a very obvious psychology-based motive for his behavior. *points at screen* He's wildly speculating on insufficient evidence. "Doesn't bathe because bathing is what his parents want," or maybe he's homeless and can't shower. You don't know. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:10 pm [[That was the one he expected. It seems more likely than... defiant filthiness.]]

*Soundwave sits up to see if things differ between people.* FakeProwl 9:12 pm He's even using psychiatric terms. FakeProwl 9:15 pm He might be funneling his own, real experiences through the framework of the psychology he's learned; or he might be making up a pile of motives based on what past shrinks have told him ought to be the root causes of his behavior. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:15 pm [[Do you think - if it is the latter - that he has come to believe them?]] [[Or is it simply convenient to regurgitate them?]] FakeProwl 9:17 pm Either is a possibility. I don't think anything about it. It's psychology, and it's aliens. It's not my forte. But he's basing his beliefs on his /instincts./ *shakes his head.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:21 pm [[Hm. At least he listened to -one- of them.]] [[He must ask what you do when faced with a case like the ones they are trying to work out if you don't apply these psychology things, though.]] FakeProwl 9:23 pm Mm. And yet he still can't comprehend that maybe understanding a criminal makes it easier to catch the criminal. Psychology is good for theories. It works for guesses. Guesses give you somewhere to look if you don't have anywhere else. FakeProwl 9:25 pm Where you WANT to look? Facts. Evidence. Paint, tread marks, dents. Objects that have clearly been removed from the crime scene that should be there, objects that were left at the crime scene that shouldn't be there. THAT'S where you want to look. FakeProwl 9:28 pm If you have imagined up a theory of what the suspect ought to look like, and then you find a suspect that matches your fantasy, that doesn't prove anything. No matter how good your theory is. That doesn't make your suspect guilty. Once you HAVE that suspect, sure, you can look for REAL evidence. You find a hammer in his home with scrapes of the victim's paint around the edge—great. NOW you've got your killer. Because now you have EVIDENCE. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:29 pm [[Then the point of his work should be use as a helpful tool, not the ending of the search.]] [[Correct?]] FakeProwl 9:30 pm Exactly. And he's—overreaching. Like the theory with the kid with a problem with authority. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:32 pm [[Is that a common problem? Making up too much?]] FakeProwl 9:32 pm Ugh. SOME people. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:33 pm *A little startled by the ugh and the emphasis on '"some".*

[[...What? What is wrong?]] FakeProwl 9:34 pm Nothing's wrong. I've had some coworkers I didn't like. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:35 pm [[Oh. You were - he thought something on screen was objectionable and he'd missed it.]] FakeProwl 9:35 pm No, no. I was answering your question. Terrible investigators. They could make up a whole novel based off the shape of a scrape. FakeProwl 9:37 pm Trust me on this—as the most meticulous report-writer in the Iaconian Mechaforensics Division—the maximum you can /actually/ get out of the shape of a scrape is eight pages. Single-spaced. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:38 pm *He looks at Prowl, slightly open-mouthed even though he doesn't intend to speak out loud, closes his mouth, opens it.*

[[...Do you still have any? Reports like that.]] FakeProwl 9:39 pm From IMD? They probably didn't survive the war. The only person I know who /might/ still have some of my old paperwork is— Oh, no, he's dead. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:39 pm *Yes, yes? Who? Wh-- oh. Damn.*

[[...If he found an interesting scrape, could you write a sample?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 9:41 pm *Gestures to the screen with his free hand.* [[They can't possibly--]] ((one sec i cro'd my food)) FakeProwl 9:41 pm ((oh my god)) Hm. They revised their theory based on new evidence. The bad investigators don't do that. FakeProwl 9:43 pm Psychology is still a dangerous game, though. Anybody can make up any one of a dozen stories to fit the known facts. Maybe one of that dozen fits the actual profile of the actual perp. FakeProwl 9:44 pm But what if the theory that the investigator actually thought up and settled on was one of the OTHER dozen? His optics will glaze right over when the real suspect goes by, because he didn't fit the profile. It's bound to be no different on Earth. Their minds are no less varied and complicated than ours. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:45 pm [["Now what has he done"? Has he done other things?]] FakeProwl 9:46 pm She clearly despises him. Maybe he's never done anything—that she knows of. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:51 pm [[...It still seems lucky.]] FakeProwl 9:51 pm It IS lucky. It's also TV. They got to script an easy capture. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:54 pm [[Well, yes. But if it is meant to reflect how things are done - that's all.]] FakeProwl 9:55 pm It's sci-fi. The sci is scicology. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:56 pm *Looks at.* FakeProwl 9:56 pm *poker face* ... It wasn't very good, was it. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[It was very good. He was trying to think of how to compliment it without you denying the compliment.]] FakeProwl 9:57 pm Oh. Thanks. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:59 pm *Nod nod.* [[He likes when you dabble in wordplay. You tend to find unexpected moments for it.]] *So Prowl doesn't feel pressured for the future, and because it is true:* [[Though he likes the more obvious ones too.]] FakeProwl 9:59 pm It isn't my forte. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:00 pm *See? Denying the compliment.* [[Then it is all the more impressive.]] FakeProwl 10:02 pm I do what I can. *He knows Soundwave appreciates them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:02 pm *Better.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:09 pm *Munch munch munch.*

[[Sometimes he has wondered - no. Hold on.]] *Tries to rearrange his thoughts some.* [[He is not truly meant for law enforcement. You know that already; he told you. And you have working optics.]]

[[But sometimes he wonders what things would be different if others had his abilities. In this case, if a better officer had them.]] [[How that would change dealing with suspects, and the laws around it.]] FakeProwl 10:10 pm Mm. ... It'd make interrogations a lot easier. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:10 pm [[He can confirm that one.]] ((AAAAGH OJ IN MY EYE brb washing eye)) FakeProwl 10:10 pm ((oh no)) ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm [[Whether or not that would - hmm. Should? Be legal to use. Information gathered that way.]] FakeProwl 10:12 pm ... This character again. Is he going to be a mass murderer? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:13 pm [[Perhaps they'll use their invention to catch him.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:14 pm [[...He's in security system work. He's going to break into places he's already secured, isn't he.]] FakeProwl 10:14 pm ... It probably would be legal, under the right circumstances, with the right supervision and clearance and evidence that it was both justified and necessary. I don't know whether it SHOULD be. ... Well—yes. It should be. But /should/ it be. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:17 pm *Soundwave vents quietly.*

[[Do you know how many illegal things he hears others being tempted to do? How many he listens to every day?]] FakeProwl 10:18 pm Give me a rough number. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm [[You don't want it.]] FakeProwl 10:19 pm I wouldn't ask if I didn't. FakeProwl 10:26 pm *jumps* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:26 pm *Soundwave shakes his head. No, he really doesn't think Prowl does. At least, he won't once he sees how high the number climbs even on a good day.*

[[But he can't act on them. Not now, anyway. Under Megatron, it was--]] Never mind. [[Not now. He has to wait until something comes of it, if it does. Which is rare, compared to how often he hears things.]]

[[It is good for an intelligence officer to have. It is not for a p--]] *JUMP* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:28 pm *Long vent. What timing.*

[[...Not a good ability for a police mech, he thinks.]] FakeProwl 10:30 pm *he DOES want to see that number, thank you.* ... It sounds like a nightmare. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:36 pm [[It was less of one when he wasn't trying to do your job.]] *Soft huff.* [[So. You see why he wondered what would happen to the system if there were more like him.]]

[[...It is probably for the best that there aren't.]] *Flicks a hand.* [[He doesn't mean to derail. He was thinking about the idea of 'useful tools'.]] FakeProwl 10:37 pm I don't know. It's hard to extrapolate from a sample size of one. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:44 pm [[He is a Pit of a one sometimes, if he says so himself. Forgive him if he's not eager to increase the sample size.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:46 pm [[...And he doesn't see what an interest in bondage has to do with criminality.]] FakeProwl 10:47 pm You'll be pleased to know we're not going to ask you to sign up for any tests trying to replicate your brain. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:47 pm [[...He is, actually.]] FakeProwl 10:47 pm It's an awful stereotype, the bondage thing. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:48 pm [[Have you run into it yourself?]] FakeProwl 10:53 pm The worst I ever encountered was a mech who believed it was impossible for someone who got off to tying people up to be psychologically stable. FakeProwl 10:54 pm I took out a set of bright, red, and obviously toy handcuffs. He shut up. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:55 pm *Amused.* [[Do you still have them?]] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:58 pm *LOUD huff.* [[Buzzsaw is highly intelligent and he could not find a thing in the correct spot in his deployer's room if everyone's life depended on it.]] FakeProwl 10:59 pm Like I said. Science fiction. That particular set of cuffs? No. I like cuffs like them, though. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:02 pm [[...Do you have any now?]] FakeProwl 11:03 pm Not currently. Lost my last set on the Lost Light. Rodimus borrowed it. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:04 pm *The return of the wrinkled faceplates and some munching.* [[Let's leave that pair where it is.]] FakeProwl 11:05 pm If he's still got it, it's somewhere halfway across the galaxy by now, so I think that's fair. FakeProwl 11:06 pm That's the third time he's shown up. He's definitely going to be the big villain. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:09 pm [[The to-be villain is off to a slow start.]]

[[...This reminds him. He has had a silver handcuff key for some time now, but nothing to go with it.]] [[An anonymous gift. He's often wondered what to do with it. Perhaps he'll have a set built around it.]] FakeProwl 11:10 pm Hm. An interesting concept. Building a lock to fit a key. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:12 pm [[More complex things have been reversed before.]] This message has been removed. FakeProwl 11:14 pm If you want /recreational/ cuffs, I'll have to give you specifications. They have to be designed differently than regular cuffs. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:15 pm [[...He didn't say they were for him. But that would probably be helpful.]] FakeProwl 11:16 pm Hm. Well, whoever they're for. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:17 pm [[Yes. Whoever they're for.]] FakeProwl 11:18 pm *a brief ghost of a smirk* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:22 pm [[It amuses him when others mistake cuteness for an inability to manipulate.]] FakeProwl 11:26 pm ... Why is the girlfriend in this show? I thought when she was introduced that she was going to contribute her psychological education to the development of this whole system. But she's... not part of the plot. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:28 pm [[Perhaps she has a greater role yet to come?]] FakeProwl 11:28 pm Perhaps. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:32 pm [[So be rude.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 11:34 pm [[...What does hair have to do with confiding.]] FakeProwl 11:35 pm *shrugs. hair is mysterious and kind of hard to look at.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:35 pm *He knows there is an Earth movie claiming someone's hair is full of secrets, but he never worked out what that meant and this seemed to have been a dead end too, so... oh well.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:40 pm *Polishes off the last of his snacks and sets the stash on the ground by the couch. He'll clean that up later.* FakeProwl 11:40 pm *for the record—that was an impressive quantity of snacks.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:41 pm *He won't have thought about it as such. It's just what he needed to refill on.*

[[Cleaning supplies.]] FakeProwl 11:42 pm *And Prowl has changed his estimates for the capacity of Soundwave's fuel tank.* The magic words. FakeProwl 11:44 pm There will likely be blood in the drains of the sink and tub still. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:44 pm [[...Still?]] FakeProwl 11:44 pm Still, yes. Dried. Traces. But detectable, even without luminol. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:45 pm [[But humans bathe more often than we do.]] [[Shouldn't that have washed it down?]] FakeProwl 11:45 pm From what I have seen of forensics on Earth, blood is /extremely/ hard to get rid of. Traces of it will dry and stick around forever. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:46 pm [[Hmm. That... sounds odd, but he will trust you.]] *And maybe not tell Knock Out there are probably traces of Silas all over his tools still.* FakeProwl 11:47 pm Even once it's been completely cleaned up to the naked eye, invisible traces of it will remain and be detectable with proper chemical tests. I think it's the... lllipids? Some component of the blood. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:48 pm [[...Human blood has components?]] FakeProwl 11:48 pm ... Yes. There's multiple ingredients. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:49 pm [[And those don't separate in their fuel lines.]] FakeProwl 11:50 pm No. It's all very thoroughly mixed. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:50 pm [[...He will be reading up on this.]] FakeProwl 11:51 pm I don't know all of the components. But I know it contains mitochondria and DNA. And I'm told it contains iron, but tastes like copper. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:51 pm [[That part is true.]] FakeProwl 11:52 pm Please tell me you haven't tasted human blood. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:53 pm [[He hasn't, no.]] *Disgusting.* [[But Ravage licked some once, and it was not too different from the blood of the creature they call e-mu. Which he has hunted.]] FakeProwl 11:54 pm *... eating organics. yeah, okay, great. just keep your mouth shut and nod, Prowl. yes. fascinating. e-mu.* ItsyBitsySpyers 11:54 pm *Eyeing Prowl. He can hear that awkward silence, you know.*

[[He said it smelled like metal and wanted to find out why. The emu was for a plant.]] [[Those without hands have to have -some- way of carrying things.]] FakeProwl 11:55 pm "For a plant"? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:56 pm *...Oops. He'll carry on like it's nothing.*

[[Yes. Our Ratchet maintains a... what is the word. A greenhouse. Many Earth plants benefit from the presence of dead organic matter and some consume other organics.]] *And so does the one in his shed, but they're not talking about that one right now.* FakeProwl 11:57 pm *oh. that's much better than what prowl was thinking. he was picturing a pink alchemy production plant.* Yes, ah... fertilization, I think it's called? ItsyBitsySpyers 11:57 pm [[That is eggs.]] FakeProwl 11:58 pm Oh. ItsyBitsySpyers 11:58 pm [[...He thinks.]] FakeProwl 11:59 pm ... You're probably right, I've been researching eggs far more recently than I've been researching anything that might concern plantlife on Earth. Yesterday ItsyBitsySpyers 11:59 pm *One of his optics twitches ever so slightly with the effort to keep a straight face. He doesn't normally bother when his mask is off, so it's not easy.*

[[He's not surprised.]] FakeProwl 12:01 am *oblivious to the twitch. probably would have been oblivious to whatever expression soundwave was suppressing, too.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:02 am *Good. It'll make him happier not being called out on the difference between the blank visor and his rather mobile features.*

[[He wouldn't mind seeing the data you've gathered, when you have a chance to share it.]] FakeProwl 12:03 am *Barely manages to keep a straight face himself. Most of the "data" he's gathered is Tarantulas's porn.* ... I'll see what's shareable. ItsyBitsySpyers 12:04 am *Helm tilt. That's an odd thing to say. Has he been interviewing other egg-layers or something?*

[[Very well. Thank you.]] ItsyBitsySpyers 12:06 am [[For now, though, he should rest. Frames heal faster with fewer systems running.]]

[[Would you like to join him? He does not yet know how your new schedule changes things...]] FakeProwl 12:07 am I am, once again, diurnal. So I'd be delighted. *The Constructicons are letting Prowl sleep NEAR them again, but not WITH them.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:12 am *Perk. Then he doesn't need to rush off right away?*

[[Good.]] *He wobbles slightly standing up, but gets his balance quickly enough and offers his good arm. He'll carry the avatar up there with him if Prowl wants.* [[Let us go. Here, for now, though he -would- like to see your apartment in person and not through a camera lens some time.]] FakeProwl 12:14 am ... Sometime when the Constructicons are out. And confident you won't bug it while they're gone. *that's going to take a while.* *takes Soundwave's hand. no carrying. not with your arm the way it is. no matter how light avatars can get.* ItsyBitsySpyers 12:16 am [[He is a very patient mech... and they'll have even less reason than usual to worry about that if you keep him busy enough.]]

*Ah? Not a problem. He likes that, too. And toward the stairs he goes - after giving the back of Prowl's hand a kiss.*

[kimberlynicolefatallo7]

BLOG #4

Eveline by James Joyce

Eveline has been told as one of the shortest stories that make up James Joyce’s collection Dubliners (1914).

Eveline pinpoints to an Irish woman, nineteen years of age who tried to escape the poor life in Ireland and his abusive father.

Eveline's mother was long dead and his father is a drunkard. Harry, her brother is always busy at work and her another brother, Ernest was gone. She was a victim of a verbal abuse from her father when she tried to ask for money everg Saturday. As a young girl and the only girl in the family, she was responsible for house-keeping on a daily basis.

Evelyn was so tired on her life. So she decided to eloped with Frank to Buenos Aires, Argentina. Frank was her lover for a long time and a sailor.

When the time of leaving came. Evelyn suddenly change her mind. She cannot leave the place where her memories lies together, where her childhood paved its way to a woman whom she is now. She cannot move on from the past maybe she was deeply rooted to her family and to Ireland.

Let me leave Joyce's further explanation on this story why Eveline has a twist ending ( according to my research) :

"Eveline depicts her current existence as dull, uninspiring, even oppressive, with her abusive father highlighting the idea that the older generation needs to be cast off if young Ireland is to forge itself into a new nation. Even the good aspects of the old Ireland, such as Eveline’s mother and her older brother Ernest, are dead and gone. The promise of a new start in a new country (in a city that means literally ‘good air’) seems like the best way to shake off the musty old air of Ireland."

A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner

This story is considered Gothic. Gothic literature elements that verge on horrorand romanticism. A Rose for Emily in other words, is a tad bit creepy.

The first part of the story started with a flashback. As the narrator narrates Emily's funeral, the second part of the story used a flashback to show who Emily was when she was alive.

This is the plot of the story: I. The townspeople attended Emily Grierson's funeral. First flashback of Emily when she was alive.

II. A flashback of her father when he died and two years after had been revealed.

III. She met Homer Barron. A flashback when she bought the arsenic.

IV. Homer entered Emily's house, the last time the townspeople saw him. Emily died at the age of 74 years old.

V. The townspeople entered Emily's house during her funeral and they discovered Homer Barron's corpse after 40 years.

I noticed in the ending of the story that the plot of the story started and ended in same manner.

The Piece of String by Guy de Maupassant

The author often wrote stories about human selfishness, wickedness, envy, spite, greed. Thus these has an enormous impact to The Pice of String.

The Piece of String has to do with injustice and cruelty of humanity. It was set in rural Normandy.

Mr. Hauchecome was walking on the road when he saw a piece of string, he get it from the dirt and he just noticed that her enemy M. Malandain was looking at him intriguingly.

When he went to the tavern, a news spread that someone lost his wallet with 500 francs in it. M. Malandain told the authority that he saw Mr. Hauchecome getting something on the road. Everyone believes Malandain and they accused Hauchecome being a theft. He tried to defend himself but the people seem insatiable.

Hours went by and the wallet had been returned but then the people still accused Hauchecome that he had planned everything. It was opposite on what he had thought that when the purse had been returned, his name would be cleared. But everyone accuses him of being a theft.

Because of too much disappointment though he was innocent, Hauchecome got ill and on his last breath he uttered, "It was just a piece of string."

The Masque of the Red Death by Edgar Allan Poe

A horrible disease called Red Death is the longest and greatest scourge the country. It was known for having Blood as its Avatar. It depopulated the country in a fatal and gruesome way. The scarlet stains caused by Red Death to its victims were the pests that being avoided by his fellow-men. Depriving them of aid and sympathy, terminating them down or shuts them away from the country.

Prince Prospero is the ruler of the country being scourged by the Red Death is wise enough to not give care and protection to his people dauntlessly. Thus, he and his thousands of friends shut themselves into a secured and deeply secluded castle to have fun and enjoyment. Six months later, the Prince decided to have a masquerade ball. The ball takes place in seven imperial suites of different colors (blue, purple, green, orange, white, violet, and black.) As the ball is going through a voluptuous scene and, the clock chimes and approaches in midnight. Everyone the fun stops and falls momentarily silent. Then an apparition of a not so peculiar guest that no one have ever seen before, wearing in a habiliment of the grave. As he walks through the frightened crowd, he stalks and looks like he finds someone.

The Red Death masquerader starts walk through the rooms, heading toward the black room. Princes Prospero rushed after him in hostility because of being ashamed of his cowardice in front of the guests, holding his murder weapon as he approaches. When he arrived at the black apartment, the corpse-costumed guest turns around on him. Suddenly, Prince Prospero falls to the ground, dead. And it was discovered that there’s no man beneath the mask, it was Red Death itself. The Red Death starts to murder the guest one at a time, creating a blood-bath in halls and suites. Then the flames of the tripods concluded, leaving only Darkness, Decay, and the Red Death.

War by Luigi Pirandello

A married couple leaved Rome through boarding a train carriage because their country is currently in war with Central Powers. They’re accompanied by other five people who already spent the night inside. The wife of the husband is in deep mourning and the passengers makes a room for her and they helped his wife. There’s no response from the wife as his husband checks her out. And the people found out from the husband that their son is being sent to War in three days. So, they’ll never see him for some time.

They started the discussion regarding on having a child being sacrificed at war. A passenger says that he has two sons and three nephews being sent back and forth at the front of war. Bragging up that he has much worst situation than the married couple. The husband states that they have no other children except to their son being sent at war. But the man started to scold him about the treatment of a parent to his child. Their discussion is almost in conclusion when a fat man interrupted the conversation and gave both man a wisdom about the real essence of having child. He argued that there’s no point on being sad because their children are willingly and satisfyingly die for their country.

The fat man’s point of view was commendable for the other passengers. The wife was in epiphany, finds strength and hope in his words. As the fat man getting more attentions, continues to tell the story how his son died a hero for his King and his country. Suddenly, a woman asked the fat man if his son is really dead like he didn’t learn or heard the wisdom, stoicism, and fortitude of the fat man. Everybody stared at her including the fat man. He attempted to answer the question, but he failed to utter his answer. He realized that his son is really dead and all of his statement became incongruous. He cried, his face became distorted, and weeps inevitably.

God Sees the Truth But Waits by Leo Tolstoy

God Sees the Truth But Waits' theme is faith, conflict, freedom, forgiveness, guilt and acceptance. It has a third person point-of-view.

Ivan Dmitrich Aksionov is falsely accused and imprisoned for a crime he did not commit for 26 years as Makar Semyonich suspected him to be the one who killed his acquaintance but he gave all of his faith and trust to God. He has actually the business and the money but at the end of the day everything of those got futile.

Through countless trials, he made it with God. Before all the mishaps, Ivan's wife had a bad dream about him and it turned out to be true.

During his stay in prison, he learned that Makar was the one who killed his acquaintance. One day there was a sudden twist in a story wherein Ivan did good deed for Makar. Because of that, Makar went to Ivan and ask for forgiveness and said that he will confess to the governor so that Ivan would be sent free.

Ivan did not want to go out of prison because he has no family neither a home for comfort so he just waited there until his last times.

Makar confessed his guilt but when the order for Ivan's release came, he was already dead.

(Photos from: Google)

[jenmedsbookreviews]

So this is the blog post that isn’t meant to happen but I had a couple of hours in between events so here we are. What a week this has been, what a rare mood I’m in. Why it’s almost like being … contented I think is the word. After an all to brief round trip to Dublin on Monday to deliver a bit of training, I have finished off my week up in Dundee and Aberdeen combining necessary annual work trips with a touch of blogger heaven a.k.a. Granite Noir.Now I may at some stage regale you all with my tales of what I did and saw but then again I may not. I attended many panels (well a few) spoke to and hugged many authors (well a few) and got some signed books (less than a few). The panels I attended were fabulous and the authors and speakers highly engaging and entertaining including Thomas Enger, Mari Hannah, Sarah Ward, Val McDermid, Karen Sullivan, MJ Arlidge Stefan Ahnhem, Craig Sisterson, Johana Gustawsson, Clare Carson, James Oswald and Will Dean. I also attended a workshop on creating compelling characters with Melanie McGrath which was really informative and made you think about the importance of clarity and coherence in character. The weekend has been, in a word, awesome.

The weekend was made ever more special by my getting to spend time with some truly fabulous people, namely Alison Baillie, Sharon Bairden, and Mary Picken and to meet Claire MacLeary and Kate Noble. Yes … I finally got to meet The (Not So) Quiet Knitter. She is sooooo lovely (if a little shy) and actually very chatty.

As I write this I have two more events left, Words and Music with Thomas Enger and Noir at the Bar. I am looking forward to both of them but hoping I don’t have too late a night as I am due up at 05:00 to be in Portlethen by around 06:15. Then it is the small matter of the 8+ hour drive home with a small diversion to Airdrie. I am so lucky. Actually I am but don’t tell work that. They may think I want to be there …

The best news of the evening – Granite Noir will be back on 24th February 2019. Watch this space folks. And for those of you wanting a much better flavour of what this weekend has been all about then check out Granite Noir TV for some of the panels that were recorded over the weekend.

Signed book wise I was very restrained. Only the two. Killed by Thomas Enger and Eeny Meeny by MJ Arlidge. I still have some more to buy this coming week though as I attend the Orenda Roadshow in Warwick on Wednesday. Cannot wait. To those poor Orenda authors who have been at Granite Noir this weekend, I am not stalking you (much) I am acting as chauffeur for my sister. Honest.

All this travel has been both good and bad for reading and book buying. Aside from the two books above, I may have bought a couple of other titles and I might have received a teeny bit more book post … Book post wise I have received The Lost Girl by Carol Drinkwater and The Language of Secrets by Ausma Zehanat Khan so thank you to Penguin and No Exit Press for those.

Book purchase wise, clearly being at a literary festival has curtailed my spending. As a result I have only bought Letters To My Daughters by Emma Hannigan; Dark Pines by Will Dean (seemed rude not to); The Devil’s Dice by Roz Watkins; The Lincoln Rhyme Collection Books 1-4 and 5-8 by Jeffrey Deaver (possibly inspired by watching The Bone Collector the other evening – I do love Denzel …); Hold My Hand by MJ Ford; The Bone Keeper by Luca Veste; The Sweetheart Killer by Arlene Hunt; Lucky Ghost by Matthew Blakstad; Anatomy of a Scandal by Sarah Vaughan; In Bitter Chill by Sarah Ward and Sewing the Shadows Together by Alison Baillie. Not a lot of books at all really.

Whoops. Reading wise it’s not been too bad I suppose. I’ve managed a few books and an audio book so I can’t really complain.

Books I have read

Silent Victim – Caroline Mitchell

Emma’s darkest secrets are buried in the past. But the truth can’t stay hidden for long.

Emma is a loving wife, a devoted mother…and an involuntary killer. For years she’s been hiding the dead body of the teacher who seduced her as a teen.

It’s a secret that might have stayed buried if only her life had been less perfect. A promotion for Emma’s husband, Alex, means they can finally move to a bigger home with their young son. But with a buyer lined up for their old house, Emma can’t leave without destroying every last trace of her final revenge…

Returning to the shallow grave in the garden, she finds it empty. The body is gone.

Panicked, Emma confesses to her husband. But this is only the beginning. Soon, Alex will discover things about her he’ll wish he’d learned sooner. And others he’ll long to forget.

A dark and tense thriller with a protagonist with a very terrible secret. I blasted through this in a day as it was the kind of read which just compelled you onwards. It is released on 1st March and you can order a copy here.

…

Bring Me Flowers – DK Hood

She didn’t know he was watching. Until it was too late.

She’d walked this path hundreds of times before, she knew every twist and turn. But today was different. She didn’t know someone was waiting for her, hidden away from view. She didn’t know this was the last time she’d walk this path.

Hidden deep in the forest, schoolgirl Felicity Parker is found carefully laid out on a rock with nothing but a freshly picked bunch of flowers next to her lifeless form. Detective Jenna Alton is called in to investigate the gruesome discovery.

With the body found just off a popular hiking route, Jenna believes the killer is a visitor to the town… until a second local girl is discovered.

Within days, Kate Bright, a school friend of Felicity’s, is found brutally murdered at the local swimming pool and once again, the killer has displayed his victim in a terrifying manner and left flowers at the scene. 

The town is gripped with fear and Jenna and her deputy, David Kane, now know that the killer is living amongst them, and that he’s picking off school girls one by one. But they don’t know who is next on the list.

As the trail goes cold, Kane and Alton are forced to sit and wait for the killer to make his next move. But now he has a new victim in his sights, and he’s looking much closer to home …

If you love Robert Dugoni, Karin Slaughter and Rachel Abbott you’ll love this nail-biting thriller from D.K. Hood.

This is the second in the series and I think it will help readers to have consumed book one, but is not essential. Set in small town America there is a chilling and merciless killer on the loose in a story which will have you locking up your daughters. You can preorder a copy here.

…

The Visitor – KL Slater

He’ll make sure she never wants to leave…

Holly never thought she’d move back to her home town, but then something terrible happened. She doesn’t know if she can recover. But she knows she can never tell another soul.

People say her neighbour, David, is “different”. He doesn’t go out much, and never after dark. But in David Holly finds just what she needs: a friend. Someone who’s always there.

No one knows Holly’s secret, or where she lives. She has left the past behind. She is sure of it. So why does she feel as though she’s in terrible danger?

An absolutely unputdownable psychological thriller, from the bestselling author of Blink and The Mistake. Perfect for fans of The Girl on the Train and The Couple Next Door. 

A gripping thriller which has you wondering just which way is up. So many possible outcomes in this book and an undercurrent of unease which will have readers in a spin. You can preorder a copy here.

…

The Babysitter – Sheryl Browne

You trust her with your family. Would you trust her with your life?

Mark and Melissa Cain are thrilled to have found Jade, a babysitter who is brilliant with their young children. Having seen her own house burn to the ground, Jade needs them as much as they need her. Moving Jade into the family home can only be a good thing, can’t it?

As Mark works long hours as a police officer and Melissa struggles with running a business, the family become ever more reliant on their babysitter, who is only too happy to help. And as Melissa begins to slip into depression, it’s Jade who is left picking up the pieces.

But Mark soon notices things aren’t quite as they seem. Things at home feel wrong, and as Mark begins to investigate their seemingly perfect sitter, what he discovers shocks him to his core. He’s met Jade before. And now he suspects he might know what she wants …

Mark is in a race against time to protect his family. But what will he find as he goes back to his family home?

A true cuckoo in the nest kind of thriller this may well have you losing your mind. Tense and occasionally skin crawling if you are a cat lover you may want to look away … You can preorder a copy here.

,,,

Anatomy of a Scandal – Sarah Vaughan

A high-profile marriage thrust into the spotlight. A wife, determined to keep her family safe, must face a prosecutor who believes justice has been a long time coming. A scandal that will rock Westminster. And the women caught at the heart of it. 

Anatomy of a Scandal centres on a high-profile marriage that begins to unravel when the husband is accused of a terrible crime. Sophie is sure her husband, James, is innocent and desperately hopes to protect her precious family from the lies which might ruin them. Kate is the barrister who will prosecute the case – she is equally certain that James is guilty and determined he will pay for his crimes.

Oh my life this is such a brilliant book. I’ve had it on my biggest regrets pile for a while so the long drive up to Scotland gave me just the excuse I needed to ‘read’ it at long last. Clever, observant and so brilliantly topical this is a fabulous book which you can order here.

…

Blog has been busy enough, all things considered, and you can find the highlights below (or links to the posts even). I did take part in a Writing Challenge as part of Rachel Abbott’s blog tour so if you are really bored, do go and take a look. You’ll have a chance to vote on your favourite challenge entries soon so keep an eye on Rachel’s Twitter and Facebook feeds for more details.

Guest Post: CJ Harter author of Fitful Head

#BlogTour: The Little Cottage on the Hill by Emma Davies

#BlogTour: Come a Little Closer by Rachel Abbott

#BlogTour: #TheLastLaugh by Tracy Bloom

Review: Before I Let You Go by Kelly Rimmer

Clearly as I am cutting back on the blogging this year, I have nothing in the diary for the week ahead. Well … apart from blog tours for SE Lynes’ The Pact; BK Duncan’s Found Drowned; Peter Ritchie’s Evidence of Death; Aidan Conway’s A Known Evil; Caroline Mitchell’s Silent Victim; DK Hood’s Bring Me Flowers and KL Slater’s The Visitor. It seems to be all about the initials this week. Do join me if you can.

I am looking forward to another brilliantly bookish week. See you all again soon…

Jen

Rewind, recap: Weekly update w/e 25/02/18 So this is the blog post that isn't meant to happen but I had a couple of hours in between events so here we are.

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John Douglas Interview by Elise Cooper

Mindhunter by John Douglas and Mark Olshaker gives an insider’s view of FBI’s elite serial crime unit.  Douglas was the youngest agent not just as a lecturer at Quantico, but also at FBI Headquarters.  His resume is impressive having spent four years in the military, holds numerous graduate degrees, was a member of the SWAT team, a hostage negotiator, and the FBI’s criminal profiler pioneer.

With the bestselling book and now a Netflix original series, people are taken behind the scenes of some of the most gruesome and challenging cases.  FBI profilers gather up crime scene evidence to help predict the type of personality who commits serial murders.  Through interviews with some of the most ghastly killers such as Charles Manson, Edmund Kemper, and the Son of Sam, to mention a few, Douglas determines their motives, attempting to figure out why they did what they did and why in such a particular manner.  

The following is an interview with one of the FBI’s most legendary Agents:

Elise Cooper:  You speak of the why + how = who?

John Douglas:  I wanted to interview these serial killers because I found the best indicator of future violence is past violence.  To understand the ‘artist’ you must study the ‘art.’  I decided to go directly to the source to form an understanding.  

EC:  You spoke on how a good profiler should also walk in the shoes of victims.  Do you feel as Michael Connelly wrote, “I speak for the victims, for those who can no longer speak?”

JD:  I got very close with some of the families.  My goal with the interviews is to give families closure and help law enforcement solve crimes. We must remember the victims, but unfortunately we do forget those ‘surviving victims.’  They suffer from losing a loved one forever and ever.  We have seen these people break down, suffer from an illness, or get a divorce.  I also broke down from the work I was doing, walking in the shoes of the antagonists to better understand them.  But we also must reconstruct what the victims went through and why they took certain actions.

EC:  You discuss in the book how you had PTSD and because you were so worn down you contracted viral encephalitis, a fever, which doctors said ‘fried his brain,’ and that if you did recover you would likely be left in a vegetative stage?

JD:  Success meant more work, which meant more stress and learning how to cope.  I was gone one-third of the year, traveling and talking to surviving victims and the killers.  I would run myself to exhaustion.  I had PTSD; psychologically it took its toll.  A lot of people in my unit got ill and died early. We felt pulled in all different directions:  personal family, FBI family, local law enforcement, the community, and victim’s families.

EC:  You had a powerful quote in the book, ‘I’m afraid too many of us in the Bureau, in the military, and in the Foreign Service give too little thought to the incredible burdens on the spouse left behind.’

JD:  It does take a toll on the family.  When I would come home I would need to decompress.  Hearing about my family’s day, like one of my children scraping a knee, seemed so trivial to everything I had done. I needed to decompress before I could react.  

EC:  You describe serial killers as controlling, manipulative, dominating, and egocentric?

JD:  They like to relive the excitement and stimulation of the kill. They mentally reassert domination and control.  They picked vulnerable victims, such as runaways, street people, prostitutes, and drug addicts.  We examined why did they pick a certain victim over another.  For example, if they walked into a bar they could pick out those with a broken wing.  Usually the victim has a certain posture or look.  

EC:  What makes a good profiler?

JD:  You need to be able to re-create the crime scene in your head.  You need to know as much as you can about the victim so you can imagine how they might have reacted, and put yourself in her place.  You have to be able to feel her fear as he approaches, or her pain as she is being raped, beaten, or cut.  You have to try to imagine what she was going through when she was tortured.

EC:  What are the traits of a serial killer and can you define the term?

JD:  Bed-wetting beyond a normal age, cruelty to small animals, and fire starting.  The FBI now categorizes them if there were two or more kills.  In the Netflix series we say three or more because that was the 80’s definition.  

EC:  But you also interviewed people who did not fit into that description like Sirhan-Sirhan, the killer of Robert Kennedy?

JD:  If I were in a prison I would not pass up anyone including a skyjacker, kidnapper, extortionist, serial rapist, arsonist, or a bomber.  I worked over 5000 cases.  I also interviewed James Earl Ray, the Martin Luther King murderer.  Perhaps we can see some of the other interviews if there is a season 2 or in the next book, Unmasking Evil.  

EC:  Did you ever profile a mass killer?

JD:  While I was in Scotland I was asked about a mass murderer of an elementary school where dozens of children were killed.  I thought the person targeted the school because they had some personal connection, and a middle age guy. The profile helped them find him. But someone like the Las Vegas killer is difficult to profile.  We look for warning signs and should educate the public to be aware of any comments and strange actions.

EC:  Do you think it is an environmental influence, genetic, or both?

JD:  From my experience with violent offenders I really can’t think of one where I found that they came from a loving and nurturing environment. I don’t believe there is a violent gene in ones genetic makeup. Certainly you find such things as addictive behavioral patterns running through a family’s genetic pool system but IMO it’s nurture and not nature that is the major contributor to violent crime.

Experienced school teachers have told me that they can predict which child will grow up to be a violent offender one day. How do they know that? Because the children identified by them all come from dysfunctional families and they witness the child acting out at a very early age such as crimes of bullying, animal cruelty, destruction of property, and other antisocial acts. Having said that I will add that a dysfunctional family does not mean that every child is doomed. There are always survivors.

EC:  This concludes the first part of our interview.  Is there anything you would like to add?

JD:  What bugs me is my former colleagues who say things to the press, possibly jeopardizing the investigation.  Many of these killers follow the press.  For example, someone once said about the DC Sniper that he thought he was G-d.  The next day a little girl was shot in the stomach and a search of the area found a tarot card.  Written on it, ‘I am G-d.’  Also, many of the self-anointed experts do not even have the training and are just talking heads.  

Thank you.  For Douglas’ comments on specific killers and the realism of the Netflix show see part II of the interview.